


the bite is a gift

by Kura



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Canon Divergence, Darkness Around The Heart, Depression, Everyone lives, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Makeover, Minor Allison Argent/Isaac Lahey, Minor Character Death, Minor Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Minor Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes, Nogitsune Aftermath, Pack Bonding, Pack Feels, Panic Attacks, Slow Build, Suicidal Thoughts, Zombie Apocalypse, a lot of weird fandom references, anchor!Derek, anchor!Stiles, attempted suicide, like the slowest in history, post 3b, until they die, zombie!stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 00:30:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 76,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1585112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kura/pseuds/Kura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'You're dead,' he finally manages to croak out and Stiles' eyes light up – not at his words but at hearing his voice again. 'I saw you die. Why are you back?' </p><p>'Someone's really happy to see me,' he pouts and crosses his arms over his chest – one that is bare of a heartbeat, the evidence of life. 'Don't be such a sourwolf. Maybe I'm immune. I could be the cure for humanity.' 'You're not immune,' he corrects Stiles in a husky whisper, 'You died. In my arms.' He feels like he needs to emphasize that over and over again.</p><p>All he wanted to do on this roof was to die in piece, side by side with Stiles. Now he has an undead companion he's not entirely convinced is really there at all and Derek's still alive. 'Yeah, thanks for the reminder. I was there, remember?' </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Or the one where Stiles dies but comes back as a zombie with a consciousness.</i></p><p>
  <b>DISCONTINUED</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This whole fic started with the idea of some zombie fluff. And now this fic is a monster and the actual fluff is still far away. This is my first fanfic in over six years and also my first one in English, so if you see any horrible mistakes, please tell me. And if you'd volunteer to beta this sweet, little (huge) monster, then please be my new best friend =) I've also taken a lot of liberties with the time line of Teen Wolf and some other canon accuracies (like Stiles' Jeep).  
> This is set after 3B but I started writing it after 'The Fox and The Wolf', so I worked with the canon elements I could fit into this story and left some other stuff out. Like Allison and Aiden dying. Or Malia being part of the pack.  
> Okay, then I wish you lots of fun!

_In the end, the dead always win._

Stiles has once said he can't remember where he's heard that for the first time – he just knows it was before... well, before the world had turned into a gigantic playground for undead cannibals. And then, following some inner voice, he had begun reciting it in a quite whisper whenever one of their pack mates fell.

A whisper that sounds dangerously like defeat in Derek's ears and poisons the air surrounding Stiles for hours.

Derek has never fully understood how much their pack meant to Stiles until he saw the hurt and helplessness in those honey colored eyes each time they had to leave behind another person they had once known and deeply cared about.

'They always win,' comes the tiny echo from a truly broken young man before him and Derek doesn't have any energy left in him to argue anymore. They are both at the end of their rope, have given up in a way. Derek knows it's just a matter of time until they have to pretend like they care about their lives again and get out of this place.

Leave Allison and Scott behind.

'I'm tired, Derek.'

Derek ignores the choked sob that escapes Stiles' mouth and gives into his own exhaustion. Their fight has drained him more than it should have and his legs refuse to carry him any longer. He slides down the hard wooden wall of the cabin they're currently residing in and nods, even though Stiles can't see it.

He is tired, too.

* * *

For them, it had started with a newscast no one of the pack had paid any heed. Kanimas, darachs and evil fox spirits they could believe – _had_ to believe – but dead people coming back to life just to feed on human flesh? That was made up stuff for television, not real life.

They'd all laughed – Stiles a bit hesitantly; he always took everything too serious nowadays – and Scott had changed the channel, while simultaneously nibbling at Kira's throat; kindly mocking the news and all the lives they could've saved if they'd just watched the rest of the telecast instead of marathoning The Lord of the Rings to get into the right mood for The Hobbit.

His best friend had missed the slight frown and the irritated suspicion that had undoubtedly ghosted over Stiles' face at the mention of the incident – but not Derek; he never missed anything concerning Stiles anymore. Not since the nogitsune could fool Scott and everyone else so easily. Just a second, then it was all gone, replaced by conjured up joy and a slight nervousness he constantly emitted whenever he squeezed himself between his best friend and Derek on the couch.

The werewolf was no fool. Derek noticed every time what went through Stiles' mind whenever they met or were in the same room together. He was pretty sure Derek could even smell it in his bedroom all day and night – irrespective of him actually being there or not. But Stiles was only seventeen and Derek probably felt like he needed to take it slow. Like really _agonizingly_ slow after all the relationship failures he had went through.

By stalling over and over again – they were both aware of what Derek was really doing – he offered the teen an out before anything had even happened. Afraid of the beautiful flower they surely could become, Derek tried to destroy the seed already buried deep into the fertile ground. And Stiles let him.

For two days life had just moved on. Everyone had gone their own way while Derek had searched online and in the papers for a part time job he could occupy himself with. He couldn't live off his late parents' money for the rest of his life. And frankly, he didn't want to.

It had nothing to do with Stiles lamenting how boring Derek's life was, supernatural business aside, and how he totally would die if the pack wouldn't hang out at his comfy loft all the time. Absolutely nothing.

The werewolf had been so focused on the tiny ads that would make Stiles flash him a proud smile in an unforeseeable future that he hadn't paid any attention to the first few pages of the newspaper. Otherwise he would have seen gruesome pictures and wild theories about corpses wandering the earth and a virus that could easily wipe out humanity, and a little voice in his head – that sounded a lot like a snarky, sarcastic someone – would have told him to take this serious.

Stiles hadn't believed it to be a real thing but he'd known _something_ was up as soon as he had heard the news. That night after 'pack business' he'd done some research but couldn't find any more details on the matter.

So he had gone to bed, dreading the nightmares that still plagued him – different ones; ones in which he hurt and killed his friends, destroyed everything _Derek_ – and had fallen asleep, dreaming of the only other thing that would finally shatter him completely: losing his dad.

So now, two days later, he came home from an extra scheduled lacrosse training the coach had forced on the team – because Jackson had offered some new tactics or whatever he'd picked up in London and Finstock had thought it a good idea to reconcile them all again – and found the house eerily forsaken.

The sheriff had a couple of days off and he usually liked to serve his son some lunch – an unusual but welcomed role reversal.

It reminded Stiles of his childhood. Of a time when he was still too small to hop onto the counter but so very eager to watch his mother cook or bake something totally delicious. She'd always helped him to sit next to the microwave; where he was out of the way but could still see everything she'd done.

Stiles ran his fingers carefully over the stove but there weren't any traces of cooling heat. Nor could he see a hastily scribbled note which informed him that the sheriff had to go fetch something. He called out for his father while climbing up the stairs confused and for some reason on the verge of a full blown panic attack. Since the nogitsune he constantly felt on edge. Like a part of him instinctively knew that the other shoe just waited to drop.

He opened every door in the house with shaky fingers and was just about to call the station – like his father had taught him to do; _you call me first, okay? From now on I want to be part of everything, Stiles. Do you hear me?_ – when his phone vibrated in his pocket and made him jump so hard he almost fell down the stairs face first.

'Dad, where are you?' he all but shouted into the little device and heard his father sigh fondly before whatever grave situation had happened caught up with him. All the panic Stiles could feel burning in his veins was carried over the speaker as his father urged him to not leave the house. Under no circumstances.

'And don't open the door for anyone. Not Scott, not deputy Parrish, not even Derek.'

Stiles granted himself the reprieve of wondering about the obviously not random order – his dad really had started to pay more attention to Stiles since the chessboard conversation – before his mind fully processed what had just been said.

'Am I being grounded? What for? Dad, I swear to God, I didn't eat your hidden donut stash. Or throw it away. There's a reason I made the new once-in-a-month rule after all the shi– stuff we've been going through. It's not my fault–'

'Stiles, I _need_ you to listen to me.'

His dad waited a few heartbeats and Stiles could hear the noise in the background for the first time. The uneasy feeling in his gut intensified when he made out cries of pain, panicked screaming and people shedding tears of fear and hurt.

Before his father could explain anything, Stiles' mind connected the pieces like a complicated jigsaw puzzle made entirely out of blood that left him unable to breathe and with violently shaking fingers. He knew that feeling all too well. His hands would never be clean again, no matter how many times he tried to wash off the crimson liquid.

'It's really happening.'

The silence that followed was worse than any nightmare Stiles' mind had troubled him with since the darkness took hold of his heart and turned him into a homicidal trickster.

A defeated _yeah_ found its way into Stiles' bubble of despair and shock and his legs gave out. His mobile phone clattered loudly as it hit the ground; he could still hear his father's worried voice but the words were lost on him.

He had survived a psychopathic alpha werewolf, a loose kanima, a disgustingly pretty darach (who had been so similar to him in so many wrong ways), the nogitsune, his mom's death for heaven's sake – and now the world just went to hell because zombies were apparently a thing?

'You've got to be kidding me.' He didn't know if crying or laughing was the proper way to respond, so he decided he'd be on the safe side if he just did both at the same time. But the broken noise that filled the silence didn't sound like him, so Stiles stopped immediately. He was so done with listening to his voice without recognizing it.

'Stiles, can you hear me? Son, pick up the damn phone!' His father's hysteria rivaled Stiles' own, so he followed the order instantly and tried to rule in his heavy breathing. 'How bad is it?' was the first thing his mind came up with. The first and only. Like figuring out that the world was ending and his father wasn't by his side had short-circuited his brain.

'Pretty bad,' confessed his dad and Stiles was glad he was already sitting on the cold floor. He didn't feel like ever getting up again. How many times would he have to walk through hell until he got his happy ending? He'd done his fare share of dealing with eternal damnation already, hadn't he? All he wanted was the world to give him a damn, well deserved break.

'Where are you?' he asked again with less vigor behind his words. He wasn't sure he really wanted to know anymore.

'In the hospital. I got a call from Melissa shortly after you left for your training. She reported people attacking each other,' the sheriff shared confidential information with him and Stiles regretted for a second that he had tricked his dad long ago into constantly doing that.

'People who shouldn't even be able to move anymore, acting unusually violent.' _It's cause they're supposed to be dead, dad_ was on the tip of his tongue but he swallowed it down; the unspoken words hurting his throat like razor blades and pointy needles.

'I had to go and help her. You know that, right?' Ever the sheriff, ever the guardian. 'Of course,' he replied without thinking. 'Why are you aski– no. _No_!' This time Stiles really screamed desperately into his phone. He couldn't lose his dad. Not like this. Not after his mom. Not ever.

'Stiles, it's fine. I'll be fine. We're holed up in the locker room and waiting for backup.' Soothing words that tore away the suffocating terror bit by bit until Stiles could breathe again without feeling like his neck was getting crushed with barb wire. His dad was okay. He wouldn't lie to him. They didn't do that anymore.

'Melissa has already taken care of my wound. Don't panic, it's nothing, really. It's– one of them bit me in the hand.'

The world stopped moving, leaving Stiles spinning out of control.

'You're bitten.' The repressed panic attack from earlier washed over him, showing little to no mercy at all, eager to finally conquer his sanity. His breathing stopped; hot, almost burning tears rolled down his cheeks and his heart felt as if someone was repeatedly stabbing it with a dagger.

A second later he started to hyperventilate and had the presence of mind to put his hand on the speaker so his father wouldn't hear it. His dad had enough problems right now. He didn't need to worry about his freaked out son on top of all of that. Stiles was stronger than this.

His father laughed quietly, sensing his son's distress. 'Stiles, this is not some Hollywood movie. A bite doesn't make me one of them. Melissa guesses it's a new virus. In the worst case something airborne. But no one really knows yet. Infected people just lose their ability to speak properly and are only ridden by one of mankind's most basic instinct.' _To feed_ he left unsaid but the words crashed down on Stiles' shoulders, making his heart drop. This was _just like_ in those stupid movies.

Stiles needed a moment to gather his strength to talk properly and without sounding like a dying animal. He couldn't hear his own words; the unsteady rabbiting heartbeat in his ears all he could concentrate on. 'Airborne or not, you have to destroy the brain.' Check that off the list of things he never thought he'd say out loud.

'Stiles, I'm not killing people because someone bit me and you've gathered from movies that it turns everyone into zombies.'

 _I got it. Kill Jackson. Problem solved._ Jackson. _Can somebody kill him again, please?_ Peter. _Could you at least think about letting him die? For me?_ Derek. Sometimes Stiles wasn't even sure how he could be the sheriff's son and still wish death upon so many people. Some of them innocent.

Stiles shook his head and watched some of his tears drop down to the ground. 'It's not the bite that turns you, dad. It just speed things up.' Bite or not, airborne viruses eventually wipe out humanity. They were all going to die sooner or later and his father would be next. There was only one thing they could do now, though he'd desperately wanted the Stilinski men to stay human until the very end. How ironic.

'Dad, I need you to let Scott give you The Bite,' he begged breathless between two violent sobs and screwed his eyes shut to regain some control over his body. He couldn't let the panic attack win. He needed his brain at full capacity right now. Stiles had to be prepared for another plan to get his dad out of the hospital and to safety.

Maybe this whole thing was a big fat hoax and not a real zombie apocalypse. Maybe his dad would be fine, like he had promised. The urge to believe his father's reassurances and take them for something akin to God's words like he did before his mom had died was unbelievably huge and oppressive.

'Son, I'm not becoming a zombie and I won't let your friend turn me into a werewolf. I've never been good at following orders,' his dad tried to calm him and Stiles couldn't suppress a desperate smile when it worked a bit. His breathing slightly evened out and his heart didn't beat so violently against his chest anymore. An icy feeling instantly took hold over him and Stiles couldn't help but cry silently at his dad's stubbornness.

'I've talked about this with Melissa already. We don't even know how this thing affects people like Scott. I don't want to put him in danger by coming here.' Born to be a sheriff. Pride flooded through Stiles' veins for a heavenly peaceful second and the room no longer spinned out of control. 'I'll be home as soon as I can. You stay there. Stiles, I need you to be safe inside the house.'

Somehow he managed not to choke on his words. 'I'll wait here for you. Promise.'

* * *

'You should eat something.'

Stiles hasn't moved for hours now, sitting in the middle of the room, frantically trying to piece together was he has just lost.

'Not hungry,' comes the raspy reply and Derek throws the water bottle next to Stiles.

'Then drink.' He's pretty sure Stiles can hear the desperate _please_ he has left unsaid but nothing seems to get the other to move. Inside their little shelter time seems to move backwards but Derek can hear their enemies closing in on them. By now they're maybe only a good hour or two away. He still has a chance to convince Stiles to move on before the horde arrives.

Like they always do. Like they have to.

The water inside the bottle sloshes against the plastic and Derek stares at it until it's as stock-still as Stiles. He tries to ignore the throbbing pain in his chest and closes his eyes. Watching Stiles slowly disappear in front of him has never been easy. Now it seems impossible.

'Not thirsty.' Of course not.

They've all lost a lot of weight in the last sixteen months but Stiles looks the skinniest. He often refuses to eat, prefers to share his meager meals with Scott or Allison – he's even often managed to place some of his food on Jackson's plate without the other realizing – and he only drinks when it is absolutely necessary.

Since the Outbreak, Stiles is not allowing himself anything, not even precious nutrition, because he thinks that this new life is some sort of punishment. That he deserves it for all the bad things he's done. For killing innocent people. The guilt is eating him alive, turning him into a lifeless shell. He already is one of _them_ , long before the virus is able to take over his body.

Hope's gotten replaced by loneliness, humor by grief and love by guilt. The Stiles crouching in front of Derek isn't the one that had fallen in love with him roughly two years ago.

Stiles had to suddenly survive in a cruel and unforgiving world and somewhere down the road he had lost himself. Perhaps he had never found himself again after the nogitsune in the first place. Derek can't tell.

'We need to move on. We can make it to Ventura by tomorrow night. If we're fast.'

Silence greets Derek like an old friend. One that is always there but never welcomed. Kind of like his uncle Peter. Thinking of him makes Derek just restless, so he stretches his legs and eases the tension in his shoulders by rolling them slowly, his eyes never once leaving Stiles' rigid back.

He doesn't know how he manages to stay away when all he sees is a broken boy, covered in both of their blood from the fight earlier. Derek loathes that a part of him just got used to it when all he ever wanted was to be close to Stiles.

'It's not safe here.' Stiles doesn't even need to answer, Derek knows well enough that there is no safe place in the whole wide world anymore. And they never really had a decent plan where to go anyway. The countryside had seemed like a good idea in the beginning. Then the mountains. After that the coast. All plans eventually had bitten them in the ass.

And now they're here, in the middle of the woods, hundreds of miles away from home and their numbers shrinking with every second.

'You have one hour, Stiles. Then we need to leave. They're coming. A small horde, from north. Just Walkers but they're getting new fellows with each passing minute. And we need more supplies. Where's the map?'

He hates talking to himself but the new task gives him something to concentrate on. He is responsible for Stiles, has been since the first day when the sheriff had begged him to do so. Maybe even since the day Stiles had held his paralyzed body in a pool for two hours.

He doesn't feel trapped by this responsibility. It rather sets him free.

Derek gets up slowly and unzips Stiles' backpack on the table next to him, rifling through it until he finds the teen's journal and takes out the map that's pressed between his latest entry and an empty page. Stiles had packed it on that very first day after they both had listened to the sheriff's last phone call with his son.

The leather-bound journal had once belonged to Stiles' mother. The teen had thought it a good idea to write down every information about their new enemies but the more time passed, the darker and sadder became Stiles' entries. It was his way of dealing with all the deaths of loved people.

Derek closes the journal as gingerly as he can and sets it on the table. He's pretty sure Stiles will write another short passage about their fight and its outcome. Like he's trying to leave a chronicle for a far away future generation.

He puts the map carefully on the table – it's gotten cracks here and there from hasty and erratic use and is most likely only one unfolding away from tearing apart. They've gotten quite far, considering they had to leave their cars in the middle of nowhere early on.

Derek has secretly congratulated himself more than once that the Camaro is locked away safe and sound in a storehouse just outside of Beacon Hills since the end of the kanima fiasco.

After the loss of their vehicles they had searched for another way of transportation. It was Stiles – of course it had been – who had the idea of using bikes. They didn't need gas, they could vary their speed and it would keep them fit. It was the first time Stiles had spoken again since the beginning of the end.

Derek had never been so happy to hear Stiles' voice.

They're maybe two or three days away from Los Angeles. He doesn't like setting up camp so close to it and he certainly doesn't look forward to Stiles getting the thoughtless idea to scavenge it.

Derek will make sure not to take Stiles with him into the city. He himself doesn't like wandering too far in either. Big cities are the worst areas; they – and explicitly LA – had been listed as the Red Zones one day before all communication broke down.

But exactly because they had been overrun with all three different types of zombies after the Outbreak, people had left a lot of useful stuff in their former shops, apartments and markets. It is like a gold mine, where death waits for you around every corner. But it usually is worth it. Derek can't even remember how many times he, Isaac, Jackson and Scott had found supplies they direly needed.

Like tents, air pumps for their bikes, spare parts, cans of food that expired in two years, fruit cocktails for the girls who had always stayed behind with Stiles. On Derek's explicit command.

That the teen had not once complained about it had been evidence enough that, in a way, he'd given up already.

But in the end, no matter how much he begged for Death to kiss him, he had never once let the girls down. A hero without realizing or wanting it.

One day Derek had even found a pair of brand new Batman boxers for Stiles in an abandoned WalMart. The teen only had smiled a bit sadly and called him a softywolf. But Derek always found the boxers on his next washing duty and watched with a warm feeling spreading throughout his body how the colors slowly faded away with each cleaning process.

Stiles wears those shorts right now. Derek can't see them under the three layers of clothes but they're the only pair he has left. The only one he's saved every time they had to run away without having time to pack all their stuff.

At first, he had told Scott one night while the two of them had been on watch, they reminded him of Erica and therefore also of Boyd but after Jackson they had become some kind of lifeline for him.

Something he could hold onto because Derek – who really is Stiles' anchor; the teen has told him more than once in an attempt to finally coax Derek out of his shell – is too afraid of giving him what he has always wanted.

Even now, in a world where beautiful flowers are one of the rarest things to see, something to be treasured for all eternity, Derek can't let them bloom.

He doesn't even remember why anymore.

They're just outside of Carpinteria, the Pacific Ocean right in front of their eyes, and a whole town to check for supplies. Derek doesn't get his hopes up to find a lot of much needed food or water. Small towns are usually bare of anything useful. The only thing always being there are almost silent killers.

An issue of _The Coastal View_ rests beneath the map, its pages yellow from months in the sun, speckled with dried blood and probably brain matter. Scott had picked it up and packed it into Stiles' backpack on the day they first entered the county. It had been some kind of odd habit of Scott's to take all kinds of newspapers with him. Maybe because he missed them. Maybe because they gave him some false sense of familiarity. Derek has never asked.

'We could go watch the sunset at the end of Linden Avenue if you want to.'

Stiles lets out a huff that once had used to be a fond, sarcastic laugh. It is the best Derek gets these days. 'Don't bother with a romantic walk on the beach. The damn apocalypse couldn't make you fall in love with me – and by the way, I'm awesome. I would've been your greatest catch, Hale. The best actually.'

For a split second Stiles, _his_ Stiles is back. The one that could be so charmingly annoying. The Stiles Stilinski who had crashed through Derek's defenses without even trying to.

He really doesn't understand why he isn't giving Stiles what they both want so much. By now, it's most likely just an old habit that dies hard.

'The world isn't done yet, Stilinski.' Stiles manages a tiny laugh. One that rips Derek's guarded heart open in no time and leaves him breathless for a moment. He's close, so very close to getting Stiles back. This one time he could make it, Derek is sure of it. So Stiles wouldn't have to do it all alone again.

He doesn't take a step towards Stiles, but he turns around and stares at the other's back as if that alone would make Stiles understand the importance of his next few words.

'Grant me a sunset date.' Stiles' body goes stiff for a moment and it almost seems like he's turned to stone. For the first time in a really long time his scent changes into something awfully familiar.

Derek has last detected it all these months ago and it hurts somewhere deep inside that it is still there but Stiles has never allowed it to break through to the surface until now. 'Please.'

Stiles sniffs and Derek instantly fears he has done something terribly wrong; that he has said the completely opposite of what Stiles wants to hear. Unsure of what to do he is on the verge of running to him to apologize when Stiles starts crying so heartbreakingly that Derek freezes on the spot.

New born desire, ancient old hurt and panicked despair weave their way through the air and Derek stumbles back a few steps, surprised at how intense those emotions hit him. He hasn't been able to catch a scent of Stiles' feelings in a long, long while. The bloodied and decaying stink of the world has numbed his sensitive nose almost completely.

Stiles doesn't even try to stop the weeping but he also doesn't let go to stand up and seek shelter in Derek's arms. The way both of them have imagined so often in their dreams. He sobs, chokes and somewhere in between Derek is sure to catch a sad, _oh so very sad_ laugh. Stiles sounds broken, defeated. He sounds–

'I'm sorry, Derek. I'm so sorry,' he cries over and over again. Like a spell that could eventually heal all their wounds. Derek loses his balance and grabs the corners of the table so hard that the wood creaks dangerously. He blinks once, twice, but his vision remains blurry.

'I'm sorry. I would have loved to go on a sappy, boringly normal beach date with you. Watch the sunset while the waves caress our bare feet and we laugh and kiss and trip on the sandy shores. I would have loved to love you. But I can't, Derek. I can't.'

Derek watches the moon shine brightly through their cabin's window and imagines he can only hear the slightly chilly wind outside, rustling through the trees. He ignores the unsteady shuffling of feet, the almost soundless gurgling that announces death coming their way.

But Stiles' slow, tired heartbeat outweighs all other sounds, because it's barely there. Unlike his broken words and the unfulfilled dreams clutching to them that threaten to drag them both down into the abyss. 'I can't!' Stiles wails and shatters into a thousand pieces right before Derek's eyes. 'I want to but _I can't_.'

Derek can suddenly hear it in Stiles' uneven breathing, can sense the hesitation but also the wish to finally say it out loud, to end it once and for all. Unable to hold onto reality, he sinks down to his knees – certain that his legs wouldn't carry him all the way to Stiles – and drags himself to the sobbing and fragile mess still not ready to just let go.

'Not anymore.'

He makes his way around Stiles, pointedly ignores what's in the other's arms and frantically lays his hands on the hollow burning cheeks to lift up Stiles' head. There's dried blood smeared across the pale face, dark shadows indicating way too less sleep, a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead and tears cascading endlessly, only getting stopped by Derek's fingers. All the signs are there.

The moment their eyes meet, he _knows_. Deep down, he's probably known all along; unable to accept it. The finality of it still hits him so hard he almost lets go of Stiles.

Those warm, amber and loving eyes are brimmed with tears, bloodshot and so full of life that Derek almost laughs out loud because of the irony. At the moment of his impending death, Stiles radiates pure life again.

'He bit me.'

Derek swears he can hear his little world fall apart completely.

* * *

Day 15  
Jan 4th

   
N°7 SIGNS OF INFECTION

→ high temperature, sweating, labored breathing, shivering, numbness in bitten area  
→ fever rises until it burns you from the inside; death is a salvation  
→ sometimes infected hallucinate before they die

Losses: none; had a lucky strike  
Remaining pack: Scott, Derek, Isaac, Boyd, Erica, Jackson (all the werewolves), Lydia (our very own banshee), Allison (bad-ass huntress), Stiles ( ~~human~~ ) heart & don't forget the brain, Derek :)

_Derek never liked it when Stiles didn't recognize how important and valuable he was to each and every one of them, so he scratched the human and replaced it with the only thing that was true. Later on, Erica had felt the need to correct him as soon as she got her hands on the journal._

Missing: Deputy Parrish, Rafael McCall, Peter Hale, Danny Mahealani, The Whittemores, Mrs Martin, Kira Yukimura, Mrs Yukimura, Alan Deaton, Ethan & Aiden  
Infected: Mr und Mrs Reyes [Day 7; car crash; no need to take them out again]  
Malia Tate [Day 14; turned; Derek took care of her (ice pick)]  
No time to grief. Hope you're warm again.

 * * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on 'the bite is a gift':  
> On the day of the outbreak the sheriff begged his son to stay at home and wait for him while in the present Derek suddenly has to deal with a bitten Stiles.  
> And so it continues.

Stiles didn't break his promise. He sat on the cold hard floor for hours, knees drawn up so he could rest his forehead on them and hug himself tightly; his cell lying forgotten next to him, vibrating from time to time and informing him of new calls or text messages. He didn't read them, just checked the sender. If it wasn't his dad, he didn't want to know.

Stiles was sure he would never feel okay again as long as his father wasn't safely by his side. That a bite wouldn't kill him like in all the movies, tv shows and video games he'd loved for as long as he could remember. That this – whatever it was – could be treated.

Scott texted him a lot but Stiles was too scared to read any of it. He felt like he was six again, sitting in front of his parents' bedroom in the same position he was in now, straining his tiny ears to hear what they were saying. To find out why his mom was getting so pale and thin, why she kept forgetting things and sometimes treated him like he wasn't her beloved son.

He was scared. Entirely and completely terrified.

His phone vibrated again and he tapped the screen to see who it was. Scott. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Stiles was sure that he didn't need to worry about the pack right now. Or rather, he really hoped he wouldn't have to. He couldn't concentrate on them and his dad at the same time. Not when his father was in immediate danger.

Jackson would rather die than leave Lydia again. For a moment Stiles let himself wonder what an apocalypse meant for someone with her powers. Thousands of people dying and coming back to life in an unnatural way, all the while screaming at the young banshee. She would soon probably feel a terrible burden weighing her down, as she still couldn't control it even remotely. Jackson though, he didn't just come back from London to watch her go mad. He wanted to atone for his sin of leaving her in any way he could. He'd find a way to ease her pain.

Isaac had Allison's back as much as the hunter had his. Stiles had to admit that he was a tiny bit jealous of that kind of bond. All he could feel was an all too familiar void inside his aching chest and he was dead sure only news of his father's well-being could ever make him feel warm again.

And Scott guarded Kira with all his might, even though she technically didn't need it. But no matter how many times she called him out on it, Scott couldn't just stop. He was born to protect, to safe people. It was what made him a good alpha. A good friend.

Even before the nogitsune, Stiles had had the sinking feeling that the sole purpose of his life was destruction. Everything he touched withered away. He was a killer. No one could ever erase that part of his life again.

Erica and Boyd both were werewolves. With the blonde's fierce attitude and Boyd's calmness he was pretty sure that they would be fine, seeking the protection of the pack while being able to hold onto each other for safety too. They were inseparable, so they just fleetingly crossed his mind while thinking of all the people he loved.

Derek lingered there longer.

The only other truly lonely being in their little patchwork pack. Derek Hale. Born to lead, to guide and to shield. Built like a Greek god but fragile and vulnerable on the inside. It was no miracle he was the only one getting a promotion on his little chessboard. From knight to king. Derek had deserved that.

Derek actually deserved a lot more after all the pain and suffering he had to go through. Stiles was pretty sure _he_ wasn't one of those things but he couldn't always ignore the inevitable pull he felt inside his own body whenever he saw the older werewolf.

Somewhere down the road – between holding Derek up in the water for two hours and desperately punching him in the face to finally wake him up – Stiles had stopped to fight his feelings. Saving Derek and actually liking him had become a thing and yet Stiles still thought that all that was still not good enough.

The whole pack had something valuable in their lives now. Something to hold onto until the very last moment. Some _one_ who hung the moon and stole the stars for them. Stiles once could have had someone like this, but he didn't deserve it. Not anymore.

The nogitsune had robbed him of almost everything. And now the world was trying its best to take away the rest.

If Stiles' dad would die, that little weak, flickering light around his heart would vanish forever; leaving him once again in an all-consuming darkness. And this time there wouldn't be a way back.

'Scott's worried.'

Derek. He should have known. Derek was the only one not texting him like a madman. The obedient beta following the concerned alpha's order: keep the depressed, defenseless human safe at all costs.

He didn't ask how Derek got in – Stiles probably had left all the doors and windows unlocked when he had come home –, neither did he flinch when he heard the slightly higher pitched voice, dripping with concern.

Since the nogitsune everyone tiptoed around him, watched him closely as if he would break apart right in front of them. But Stiles had learned long ago, before he even knew one of them, how to properly wear his masks. How to not let anyone get too close. Well, anyone but a trickster spirit, obviously.

They should've listened to Kira's mom and just killed him. Anything was better than the numbing nothingness he felt ever since his mind only belonged to him again.

'I'm not supposed to let you in,' he whispered weakly and hated himself for the tremor in his voice. Hated how he fulfilled their picture of him, how freaking human he was. Helpless and useless. Why did they even bother with him? Out of habit or pity? He didn't know which was worse.

Stiles could hear a huff from above and then rustling of fabric, before a body dropped down next to him, radiating a comfortable warmth Stiles welcomed and feared at the same time. 'You've already let me in,' came the quiet reply, amusement sneaking its way into Derek's voice.

This was familiar and highly treasured territory for Stiles and for a moment he was so thankful for the small reprieve that he allowed himself to fall back into his usual back and forth with Derek. For a little while everything was fine.

He lifted his head and almost lost himself in those green eyes that were speckled with hazel and so much unguarded care it practically suffocated Stiles. Not pity, not habit. Just Derek.

Stiles had to swallow around the lump in his throat and put on a huge grin that was only fake by size while gesturing at his body. 'But you've never been _inside_.'

Derek rolled his eyes and nudged him playfully in the ribs, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips and the moment of peace vanished into thin air, leaving Stiles bowing his head again in defeat.

Derek would tell him everything he wanted to know. Wouldn't ever lie to him again. Just like him and his dad. One of these unspoken things that happened along the way. Like falling in love with Derek. Easy and beautiful like breathing in fresh air after a rainstorm.

'What have you heard?' The dark cell phone lies between their thighs, untouched and not vibrating anymore. It was like the world had suddenly gone silent, now that Stiles wasn't alone with his thoughts anymore. There probably was a deeper meaning hiding in there, but Stiles had no time to elaborate on it. He sincerely doubted there would ever be a proper time for this again.

Derek sighed and opened his legs a little so their feet would touch. A welcomed spark of electricity shot through Stiles' otherwise numb body and he wondered for a split second if Derek picked up on Stiles' changing scent and behavior. If he waited to react to it when the time was right or if he flat out ignored it like he almost always had. Stiles really wished to see the armor surrounding Derek fall just for him, so he – in return – could show the other what lay behind his forts.

'Virus, breakout, lethal. Seems like every zombie movie came to life.'

He let the words sink in and mentally prepared himself for the next panic attack, for the walls coming closer and closer again, trapping him inside his own mind like the nogitsune had done. It never happened. At least not in the dimension Stiles pictured it. Derek's calming presence was enough to keep him from jumping off the edge, grounding him in the present. So that was what having an anchor really felt like.

It thankfully wasn't the same trapped, choking feeling like dependency. Just safety.

'So a bite turns you?' He had to ask because of his father. There was still a little bit hope left inside of him that the bite part was utter crap and the virus just turned you whenever you died. A horrible imitation of a laugh escaped Stiles' mouth and he looked Derek straight in the eyes. 'So what? Do we get to call them werezombies?'

Derek, awesome understanding Derek, played along while outside the sun began to set, dragging shadows over the kitchen floor, and Stiles barely resisted the urge to scramble away from them. _Everyone has it but no one can lose it. What it is, Stiles?_ 'They don't shift like we do, Stiles,' came the dramatically exasperated lecture and Stiles' heart skipped a beat when he realized that Derek had seen his dreading fear of the shadows.

'They turn and never come back to their senses again.' His voice had gone serious at the last part. As if Derek had suddenly realized how close that must have hit home with Stiles' trickster problem.

'Sounds a lot like Jackson to me. Turned into a douche and never stopped being one.' There was no venom in his voice, just annoyed fondness that had replaced any harsh feelings for the other teen the moment he saw Jackson die in Lydia's arms. Who could've known he would be so stubborn and come back from the dead as a brand new werewolf?

The shadows grew longer, tugging at Stiles' feet, whispering sweet nothings into his ear and he barely suppressed a flinch while pressing his back against the cupboards as hard as he could. 'They can't harm you anymore.' Without realizing what had happened he whipped his head around and stared at Derek in the fading sunlight.

'It's childish to fear the dark, I know.' Stiles wanted to run his fingers through his hair just to do something to ease the tension that was slowly bubbling up around them.

But to his own surprise he couldn't lift his right hand. Not without dragging Derek's left one with him. 'Are you leeching? Don't leech,' he begged almost like a child that couldn't understand why it wouldn't get its beloved candy at the grocery store.

'No, I'm not _leeching_. You grabbed my hand, remember?' He didn't but he also didn't care. Derek's hands were so very soft, like the skin of a baby. Stupid werewolf powers. 'There's nothing wrong with being afraid of the dark, Stiles.'

There was nothing wrong with it because he would carry a darkness around his heart for the rest of his life. He shouldn't fear it anymore. Especially not since the trickster spirit. But that wasn't what Derek had meant. Still, it was hard to shut up that nagging little voice inside his head that fueled every hopeless and self-deprecating thought he had. And he had thousands of them.

Night soon fell over them, bathing Stiles in stone-cold shadows that screamed _You can't lose me, Stiles. Never_. He didn't let go of Derek's hand but he let his guard down a bit. Let the exhaustion wash over him and his eyes droop. Derek would keep him safe; from the nightmares in his head and the ones beginning to lurk on the streets of Beacon Hills. He trusted Derek completely – and in this moment he realized deep down he always had.

Not because it was easy to force someone older to take all the responsibility when it got too much for him to handle but because Derek deserved the trust. He had gotten wiser, had learned from past mistakes and knew better what to do than Stiles could ever dream of.

Stiles' eyes closed shut and his head made its way over to Derek's shoulder when his phone vibrated and made them both jump in surprise. He couldn't reign in the worried glance he shot Derek as soon as they both read the caller ID.

Derek nodded reassuringly and Stiles felt something akin to remorse when their fingers parted. He also couldn't fight the chill that took hold of his body.

As if Derek had sensed his distress – he had probably sniffed it, that cheater – he scooted even closer, so that his body heat engulfed Stiles completely.

It wasn't even remotely funny that the world had to go to shit so that Derek Hale would willingly be this close to him. If Stiles had known before that Derek didn't mind, he'd just went for it. He only lived once, after all.

'Finally! _Dad!_ ' No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep the relief out of his voice. His dad had kept his promise. He probably was already on his way back home, giving Melissa a safe ride back. Things would be okay with his dad and Derek by his side.

'Stiles,' came an almost inaudible hiss and he blinked several times to get rid of his confusion. His dad didn't sound even remotely fine. He sounded like he was in a great deal of pain.

Stiles was almost too afraid to ask, 'What's going on?'

A moment of silence, then, 'I'm not going to make it home, son.'

He wasn't sure which one of them breathed louder. He or his dad. But the one having another panic attack was definitely Stiles. He turned to Derek, unwilling to accept the answer the sheriff had just given him. Not fully able to comprehend the words just spoken.

The blinding sadness in Derek's eyes was no hallucination but Stiles more than wished it would have been. Clutching Derek's hand again like his own life depended on it, he buried his face in the crook of the older man's neck. Listening to the ragged breathing of his dad made him feel so tired; like he hadn't slept in ages. Exactly like it had been when he the nogitsune had taken over his body and mind.

But this was not a dream. Derek's presence painfully reminded him of that. The older werewolf appeared in his nightly fantasies often, maybe too often to be healthy, but they never did _this_. They never just sat on the cold tiles in his kitchen and listened to his father losing his life to a damn zombie bite.

Derek let go of Stiles' hand and ignored the protesting noise that immediately followed. For a moment Stiles was so angry, he forgot his father completely. How could Derek, his _anchor_ for god's sake, let go of him in this very moment? The one time Stiles desperately needed someone to hold onto?

But then Derek put his arm around Stiles' trembling shoulders and pulled him in as close as he could while giving him his right hand to anchor himself. As soon as his fingers gripped Derek's and his nose dug itself deeper into the other's neck, reality hit him again.

Derek didn't do this to start a long overdue make-out session. He was here to protect Stiles – Scott's orders, he constantly had to remind himself – and just coincidentally witnessed the sheriff's dying moments. Derek tried to calm Stiles, to prepare him for the inevitable. This was _pack_ , not love. It most likely would never be.

Yet he couldn't bring himself to let go of the mesmerizing warmth that surrounded Derek. He wished his father could experience it right now too, so he wouldn't die alone, feeling cold and abandoned by his own son.

'You were right. About everything,' his dad wheezes, obviously in a lot of pain but desperately trying to hide it. Stiles would much rather be wrong about everything zombie related than losing his dad forever during a stupid phone call.

They both listened to someone crying in the background and Stiles was pretty sure it was Scott's mom. He instantly felt like joining her. All of this, this god damn day, couldn't be real. He was still possessed by the nogitsune and that moronic spirit just tricked his mind into oblivion, right?

Derek's steady heartbeat beneath his cheek told a slightly different story. This was real and it was happening to Stiles right now.

He felt unable to breathe, his whole body stilled on its own accord. The only living thing coming from him were tears; falling as silent as snowflakes on a cold winter night. He heard a voice in his head whisper a plea to a God that no longer existed.

_Just let me die._

'No Stiles,' came the heated answer from both his dad and Derek beneath him. Though Derek didn't actually say anything. It was just his heartbeat that gave him away, stuttering over Stiles' words that he had involuntarily said out loud.

His father coughed violently and Stiles' vivid imagination provided him with a small speckle of blood on his father's right hand – he always used to hold his phone in the left one – that he gruffly wiped away on his pants. Then he would definitely look at the bite, still oozing through the bandages and sigh as quietly as he could. Muster up all his strength to try to not scare his little boy.

'Find Scott.' _Be close to your alpha_ hung heavily in the air and Stiles secretly wondered when his dad had so readily accepted the fact that they all were pack now. He could sense Derek getting stiff underneath him and felt the need to correct his dad.

'He's my best friend and I would follow his lead everywhere, even die for him, but he's not my _alpha_.'

His tiny display of defiance coaxed a small, fond laugh out of his dad and Stiles instantly felt better. That Derek went all loose-limbs under him was just a bonus. Even though Stiles was one hundred percent sure that there would be a confused eyebrow dance taking place on Derek's face as long as he was trying to understand what exactly Stiles had just confessed. Probably even longer.

'Then find Derek, son.' Later, much later that day when he hurriedly packed a duffel bag under the concerned and watchful eyes of Derek, Stiles had wished that this could have been the last words his dad ever said to him.

Everything after that was brimmed with love too, but also desperate and urgent. These four words on the other hand had truly connected them for the last time in their lives and made Stiles feel like all the months of lying and hiding had never happened. Like his mom had never died.

'I already have,' he whispered too low for his dad to hear in the chaos of crying and pained grunts on his end but Derek had and that was more important. His dad already knew anyway. The thought that they would never have an embarrassing talk about sex and Derek struck Stiles so hard he almost chocked on his own feelings.

His father didn't have any time left to wait for him to calm down. 'If the Argents are still there, go with them. Just promise me to stay safe. Stay alive. And never give up.'

The sheriff began to cough so loud that Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled a calming dose of the faintest hint of aftershave and sweat. Derek had probably run all the way over here earlier in a frantic hurry, totally forgetting the soccer mom car he used to drive these days in favor of just getting to him. _Scott's orders, Stiles._

The coughing continued but grew more distant as if his father had put the phone on a table and walked away for a second. The mental image was enough to awake the panic from its dreamless slumber. He didn't want the call to be over because it meant his dad's life was about to vanish too.

Stiles couldn't lose his dad. In fact, he couldn't lose anyone anymore. He wasn't ready for it. Any of it.

There was rustling on the other end, a muffled sob and then a female voice cracked twice while speaking hurriedly. 'Stiles, sweetie,' greeted him the unnaturally sad voice of Melissa McCall and Stiles had a lot of trouble swallowing back the tears.

He'd called her mom exactly three times since his mother's death but the last time, lying in that hospital bed she tucked him in, it had felt like the right thing to do. She never could have replaced his mom but Melissa McCall was the closest thing to one he'd ever had.

'Can you tell Scott something from me?' He probably had to tell his brother – not by blood but definitely by heart – a last goodbye from her. Stiles only distantly wondered why she hadn't called Scott herself.

Still with his eyes closed he managed a weak _yeah sure_. His spirits lifted a tiny bit when Derek absentmindedly rubbed soothing circles into his left side and he repeated his words, more confident this time. He needed to be strong; for all of them.

'Please tell Scott that I'm very proud of him and that I love him so, so much. And I'm– I'm sorry I can't protect him anymore. I mean– Stiles?' she asked hopefully and he bit his lip to not burst into tears again. That was not what she needed right now. What any of them needed.

So he forced a strange pathetic sound out of his mouth that thankfully was enough to ease her worries but as soon as he heard it, his heart started beating violently in his chest. Her hurried goodbye meant that she was about to die too.

There was no one to come home to ever again. In a matter of minutes he would be the last Stilinski. Utterly and truly alone.

'S-Son?' his father came back on the phone and Stiles' heart clenched in a violent effort to not shatter into a thousand tiny pieces. Melissa was gone, her sobbing just outside of his hearing range. The only prominent thing was his father's ragged breathing. He sounded like his lungs had turned into a bloody mess riddled with big, gaping holes.

Stiles cleared his throat as quietly as he could to not miss only one single word and rubbed his cheek over the damp spot on Derek's shirt. He hoped Derek didn't mind him crying and snotting all over his pristine white shirt.

'I wish–' Coughing, wheezing, faint cries of despair from Melissa and uncontrolled banging on a door. Stiles' last hopes crashed against the brutal surface of reality. Their time was running out. One way or another, it would end now. Not even Derek holding him like he could turn into thin air at any moment could offer him any real comfort.

'Wish I could b-be there with y-you.' Stiles smiled sadly, picturing his dad doing the same over at the hospital. 'You ha-have to be strong now. I know 'tis hard.' Tears rolled over his cheeks and his fingers went numb. He almost let the phone go – his whole body kind of sore from clutching it to his left ear with his right hand, so he could bury his face in Derek's surprisingly comfy chest – when the werewolf gently shifted their position.

He was holding Stiles phone now, leaving him feeling horribly bereft of safe warmth and comfort at his hip, and brought their entwined hands up to his mouth. Derek planted a soft kiss on Stiles' violently shaking fingers and grazed his forehead with another one, before settling into this position – his lips never once leaving Stiles' prickling skin.

'I never wanted us to part,' his dad confessed in one shuddering breath and Stiles immediately understood the hidden importance of the words. His dad's drinking, the long shifts, Stiles spending his time at Scott's, practically living there, Stiles' lies. Everything that had caused the rift between them after his mom had left.

The nogitsune did spread a lot of chaos and pain but it also had brought him and his dad closer together again. It certainly couldn't have been too happy about that but Stiles thanked the God he didn't believe in anymore that it couldn't drive them apart.

The banging got louder, intensified in numbers and strength. Stiles pulled Derek's fingers closer to his own mouth to stop himself from screaming out loud. It was so incredibly hard to stay strong.

'I–I'm– Stiles, I can't f-fight it any longer. I–'

Driven by pure panic Stiles opened his eyes and yelled desperately, 'Don't hang up!', although he knew it was a bad idea. They should end it here and now. It would spare both of them a lot of pain. But the Stilinski men never were known for listening to reason.

'I won't,' came the hesitant promise and Stiles scooted closer to Derek. Even though he was already almost sitting on Derek's lap, Stiles felt as if there was a whole universe of dead space between them. Something needed to be done about that.

'Love you, son.'

Stiles smiled weakly and breathed deep in and out – ignoring the stressed call from Melissa that the door was giving in – before he answered, 'Love you too, dad.'

There was a small pause in which time seemed to stand still and Stiles could practically feel his father's discomfort and how he had to fight the urge to beg his son not to listen to this. They both stayed silent. Stiles was sure his father knew very well that he needed, no, wanted to be with him until the very end.

'I love you, Stiles' repeated his dad in a quiet whisper that also could have been a _Never forget that_ or a _You were the most important thing in my life_. Stiles didn't need to hear that. He had always known. Could see it in his father's eyes every time they fought and ignored each other for days on end. Heard it in words not spoken.

He didn't get a chance to tell his father any of that because the phone was being placed somewhere and footsteps led away. 'Sssh,' came the soothing sound from a faraway distance, like he was listening to a broken radio while driving through an unbelievably long tunnel. 'It's gonna be okay.'

Somewhere in the distance, his father spoke slowly, each word clear and precise. He was gathering his last bits of strength to calm down Melissa. Stiles had a serious problem with understanding him through the overwhelming static in his ears. For him, everything his father said was void of any real emotions and lacked true meaning. Stiles wished he would have had the strength to hang up.

Now all he could do was cling to every last bit of his father, unwilling to let go of everything he has ever known; everything safe and familiar. He just didn't want to be suffocated by darkness again.

There was a shocked outcry – Scott's mom – and wood splintered. A gun cocked and they heard a shaky but determined _Do it_ before a single gun shot ripped through Stiles' whole body and turned his blood into stone. Heavy breathing reached his ears and for a second he was relieved to hear his father still being alive.

Then there was a bang from the shattered door and a whispered _I'm coming home, Claudia_ , before the gun blasted a second time, engulfing Stiles and the whole world into a blanket of muteness. His ears rang painfully with his father's last words.

He listened numbly to tripping footsteps, a low but dangerous gurgling and – after a few seconds – a slippery, ripping kind of sound. Like... someone tearing flesh with teeth from a body.

Derek must have understood too, because he ended the call and put Stiles' mobile phone on the ground next to him. Silence. There was nothing left. Forever nothing.

Stiles blinked twice to get the tears out of his eyes but they wouldn't stop falling. Just like his frantic heartbeat didn't slow down or his breathing couldn't be regulated.

There was not a single coherent thought left in his mind – nothing made sense anymore. In this moment, Derek was the only thing close to stability and sanity. So Stiles held onto him with all his might. That didn't stop the broken, grieving and needy sound from tumbling out of his mouth though.

' _Derek?_ '

* * *

Day 04  
Dec 25th

N°1 VIRUS EFFECT ON HUMANS

→ airborne: everyone is infected  
→ You die, you turn  
 **Don't die!**

→ If you die (sorry), it depends on how fast you come back as one of them. Most come back within an hour or two

_There's a tiny hastily scribbled note between the lines. 450 days later Stiles added this:_ (Day 454: ~~Lydia~~ Someone managed to hold on for 16 hours before eventually turning. We can't say if it was due to special powers or sheer stubbornness. ~~Lyd~~ Someone definitely knew how to fight.)

→ No one is known to survive the bite. First known victim: ~~Sheriff~~ my dad on Day 03, as well as Melissa McCall. → Spit and blood in open wounds/in your mouth transmit the virus. _Allison provided another extra bit without Stiles realizing:_ (most likely Mrs McCall's cause of death)  
→ Just like a turning takes its time, the spreading of the infection varies. _And because Stiles never talked about it:_  
(Sheriff Stilinski held on for six hours.) Best sign for infection is a high fever. It usually sets in 2 to 6 hours  
after a bite.

Losses today: Mr Yukimura [bitten; fate unknown]  
Kira Yukimura, Mrs Yukimura, Aiden, Ethan [got separated; fate unknown]  
Remaining pack: Derek, Scott, Allison, Isaac, Lydia, Jackson, Boyd, Erica, Stiles.  
Missing: Deputy Parrish, Rafael McCall, Peter Hale, Malia Tate, Danny Mahealani, The Whittemores, Mrs Martin, The Reyes Family, Alan Deaton  
Infected-Sighting: Chris Argent (sorry we just left you. Allison didn't want to... She's still clinging to the hope there'll be a cure asap)

_The next few lines are written in a almost illegible scrawl, as if Stiles had to do it quickly or he'd never do it. The ink is smeared in some places by tears hastily being wiped away._

Losses Day 01 to Day 03: Sheriff John Stilinski [bitten; suicide] Merry Christmas, dad. Say hi to mom.  
Melissa McCall [infected; assisted suicide] _Isaac's handwriting:_ Merry Christmas, Mama McCall  
Coach Bobby Finstock [bitten; arrow through the eye (Allison)]  
Greenberg [turned; beheaded (Kira)]

* * *

Moonlight illuminates their joined bodies on the ground, casting a grotesque shadow on the wooden floor. It looks a bit like Derek feels. Not from this world; an abomination yet unique in a bizarre, beautiful way.

Stiles is a shivering, sweating, mumbling mess in his arms. The fever is rising with each passing minute. And there is absolutely nothing Derek can do.

'Please just hold me,' Stiles had said a few hours ago, right after his first open love confession. And his revealing of the bite. Derek hadn't noticed that Scott had managed to bite Stiles during their fight. It all had happened so fast and he had been preoccupied with keeping Scott away from his best friend – placing his arms around the alpha's torso and locking his hands tight while tugging him slowly across the room.

When Derek had looked back at Stiles the only thing he saw were claw marks all over his body. Not deep ones but it didn't matter anymore. Scott had bitten him somewhere between the shouting, pushing and tearing Stiles' body apart. And Derek hadn't been able to prevent any of it. Hadn't even seen it coming.

They both hadn't known Scott was already infected. They just assumed he was heartbroken over Allison's death. Like Jackson had been when Lydia died. Derek had made a grave mistake and now Stiles was dying in his arms. Just like Paige.

''M so cold, Der,' Stiles whispers tired and adds a bit slurred, ''T hurts.' He places his hand on Stiles' forehead and hisses, withdrawing his hand as if he has just burnt himself. Stiles was incredibly hot, the fever taking over his whole body, torching the last bits of his humanity.

He has dragged them both to the corner of the room, directly under the window and with his face to the door. He doesn't want to take any chances of being surprised by the horde coming their way or a few stray and eager infected walking in front of the others. Like their very own versions of scouts.

He's sitting with his back to the wall, cradling Stiles in his arms – not much unlike the boy had done with Scott yesterday – and it still feels like it's completely different. He's not Stiles' best friend, never has been. He's so much more. Could have been a lot more but never dared to be.

Now it's too late. And he has no one else to blame for that than himself.

Stiles has often made himself very clear over the last year. It's been hard for him, too. Watching all those happy little pairings grow together even tighter with each day like nothing could ever separate them again.

And then they died, mostly the same way they spent their living days: together. Stiles on the other hand would die alone, just like Derek.

The teen's journal is lying next to them. He had managed to write one last entry with his last bits of strength. It lacks everything that is so special about his usual style but he's been so exhausted from just writing those few lines. And he has complained a lot that his hand was starting to feel like it was made of stone. By now he couldn't feel his whole right arm anymore.

Scott bit him in the wrist and the wound had drawn a lot of blood Stiles had cleverly hid from him. To properly mourn his best friend's death, Derek supposes. He's not quite sure but he doesn't want to waste Stiles' last words with Scott and things that can't be undone.

'Think I'll see my mom and dad again?' comes the fearful question and Derek's heart clenches. He doesn't know what to answer to that. Before Day Zero he had always assumed to see his family again; once he'd finally bite the dust. He'd never wanted anything more than that.

Now he's done so many things he's not proud of and the thought of seeing his dad's disappointed face or his mom's loving but sad smile is too much to bear. He will cross that bridge when he gets there. Right now, every fiber of his being clings to Stiles like there's no tomorrow.

Without him, Derek sees no point in there being one.

He's never left the pack because of Stiles. Never went away to search for Peter or Cora. He had wanted to protect Stiles and only Stiles in this new world, like the sheriff had asked him to with his final phone call. Like he had done in the old world too.

Even though nothing ever happened, he damn well knows that there is something special between them. A strong bond that he can't destroy – no matter how hard he tries. Because it was forged by something stronger than them. And Stiles is too stubborn to let that happen. _Was_ too stubborn.

'I'm sure they never want to let you go again,' he answers after a while honestly – because that's how he feels too. If he could, he'd safe Stiles from this and he'd finally stop hiding his feelings. When every day could be your last, there was no pointing in doing so. He understands that now.

Why does he always have to learn things the hard way?

'I don't want to die.'

'I don't want you to die either.'

Stiles manages a weak but somewhat happy smile and opens his eyes for the first time in hours. Derek fights the wish to close his own. Stiles' eyes are dull, almost completely void of any flicker of life. The color seems to have lost its powerful magic.

Dark circles highlight the almost dead eyes in a sickening way and his skin is as white as the sheets of paper in his journal. Sweat runs down his hollow cheeks and onto Derek's pants but he doesn't care. He fears he'll never care about anything anymore.

'Don't say that. Or you make me regret so many things. Don't wanna regret. Not you.'

Stiles smiles again, honestly tries to light his face up with it but it never quite reaches his eyes. He's not able to hold it for a long time either. Stiles' body is weak, close to giving up, giving in. Time is ticking away ruthlessly, like water running through his shaky fingers.

'I regret us.'

He hasn't thought about really saying it. It just slips past his lips and feels like a punch in the face. Stiles' shocked expression tells him he thinks the same. 'I mean,' he tries to backpaddle but Stiles just shakes his head and raises his left hand to caress Derek's cheek.

He only has the strength for three seconds, then the hand falls uselessly back onto his stomach, making him wince in pain.

'I get it,' he gasps and tries to fight back the tears in vain. 'Me too.'

He doesn't blame Derek for it, the thought most likely never even crossed his mind, but it's all he can think about. Just so he doesn't have to face the reality of being alone again in a short amount of time.

'Maybe in our next lives. I'd like that,' Stiles grins a bit dreamy and breathes deeply through his nose. His chest comes to a stop and Derek watches in horror how still Stiles' body goes.

'No,' he breathes, unwilling to let it all end like this. He's one second away from grabbing Stiles' lithe body by the shoulders and shake him so long until he starts breathing again. But then Stiles opens his eyes and continues his fight for pumping enough air through his body. He's desperately holding on.

For Derek, he realizes belatedly, and a pang of guilt hits him as hard as a ton of bricks. Stiles can see how Derek suffers, how he can't let go of the boy. It's clear as day and Derek thinks that maybe, _maybe_ it's sufficient to keep Stiles alive. They're both obstinate enough to make it happen. A small miracle is all he's asking for. Just one in his life, that'd be enough.

'You need to lemme go,' Stiles whispers with a curt nod and fumbles a bit helplessly with his numb fingers until he finds Derek's hand. He tries to squeeze it in a small comfort but it just fuels Derek's despair. His whole body feels like it's on fire and there's no way to safe him from being torched alive.

''S okay, Derek,' he's being reassured by a dying man – too young to fully understand the gift of life; old enough to just seize the day and live. It should be the other way round. But Derek's not the one who'll be gone by daylight. He'll stay behind and has to face the hardest decision of his life: kill Stiles or just leave him.

He's not fond of those two options. There's a third one but the doesn't dare think about it now. Stiles would see it on his face, plain as day, and he doesn't want the other to worry any more. He's done that for the last twelve years. Derek can at least grant him that.

Stiles tries to shift, get more comfortable but gives up almost immediately. It drains him of his last bits of energy and he's not ready yet. He still hasn't convinced Derek that everything is okay. That he is fine with dying.

''M free, right? Done enough good to outweigh the bad. M'hands are no longer soiled with blood. Right, Derek?'

He nods and bites his cheek to stop himself from starting to cry. 'There never was any of it on you, Stiles.'

The teen shivers and flashes him a thankful smile but the stricken sadness remains. Stiles believed up until he was bitten, that the nogitsune, his mother's death, _everything_ had been his fault. By dying now – at the end of their journey – he finally can let go of all the grief and self-hatred. He has paid the ultimate price.

'Like it when you try to make me feel good.'

Derek barely manages to hold it together. Dawn creeps mercilessly closer, the horde is dangerously close to their cabin and Stiles' labored breathing gets slower and slower with each cycle. Derek's started to shiver too but thankfully Stiles doesn't notice.

He cradles the bony body closer to his chest and gently wipes away a stray lock of hair on Stiles' forehead. It's gotten quite long again, easily falling him into his eyes. It makes him look far younger than he is.

A spark flashes through the amber eyes again, like Derek's touch warmed him from the inside out and he closes his eyes to smile lovingly. This time it does light up the room and Derek can't help but hope that this is the image he'll have in mind whenever he thinks of Stiles in the future.

'It's time,' Stiles wheezes after a while and Derek can't do anything to stop the tears from falling now. Death may welcome Stiles like an old friend but Derek is not ready for this. Not when he is finally able to love Stiles the way he deserves it.

'Don't go,' he pleads and buries his head in Stiles' neck – a precise imitation of them in the Stilinski kitchen on Day Three. Just with reversed roles.

Stiles' heartbeat slows down with each thump and Derek's desperately tries to match their rhythms again on its own accord. He can't blame it though. Endless sadness invades Derek's nose and for once he's not sure if he's sniffing his own emotions or Stiles'. He's not sure about anything anymore. In just 48 hours everything had gone so horribly wrong.

'Let go,' Stiles begs before he corrects himself. Not his words, but his tone. 'Let go, Derek.' It's not a plea anymore – he knows Derek doesn't need to remember him wishing for his death. No, Stiles says it like a charm. Like it'll ease all of Derek's pain once he gives in. It's a promise and a goodbye in one.

His hand closes around Stiles' fingers because it's the only thing he can think of right now. If Stiles wants to help him in his last moments, Derek should return the favor.

He curses himself when the content expression on Stiles' face changes into worry bordering on panic. 'Don't leech,' he all but urges and tries to rip his hand out of Derek's vice-like grip. 'Der... we dunno if 's dangerous. Please don't.'

Tears fall on Stiles' black hoodie and in some of his open claw wounds, mixing the already dried blood with salty water. Derek reluctantly convinces his brain to let go of the wish to ease Stiles' pain. In the end, Stiles didn't even grant him this little thing.

'You've never once allowed me to take anything away.' His voice sounds childish and cracks around each word. He has a lot of trouble to keep his emotions in check now that his voice betrayed him. Stiles chuckles shortly and entwines their fingers to show he's okay with it as long as Derek doesn't try anything.

'Pain makes us human. Wanna stay human till the end.'

With Stiles, things are easy like that. You're a werewolf now? Alright, let's work on your wolfy powers then. You're constantly acting like a dick towards me? Whatever, I still save your life. Cause someone would still miss you. You can ease people's pain? Awesome, pal, but hey, never forget that you don't take it away. You just shift it. You're afraid of loving me? That's fine, dude, don't worry. I'll wait. Forever, if I have to.

Stiles chokes and splutters, a small trail of blood forces its way out of his mouth. His body is betraying him, giving him less time than he needs.

A toothy grin, a gentle finger on his mouth, a single tear falling down Stiles' ashen face. His dark moles stand out like stars illuminating a winter night's sky. Derek wants them to guide his way for just a little while longer.

There are slurred words, spoken only with determination and a deep-rooted fondness. Stiles knows it's the last thing he'll ever say. 'My King. Apologies for the sudden checkmate. But you're special. Y'can still win.'

And with that he is gone. Stiles' body goes limp, a last gush of air leaves his lungs and his mouth falls slightly open.

In the dawning sunlight Derek desperately holds on to the only person that has always mattered. To everything he has just lost. He's alone again.

There's no one to stop him from howling out at the rising sun in despair, trying to guide his lost mate back to him.

* * *

Day 563  
July 6th

Lost Scott and Allison. Got bit. Derek's been crying. Won't show me though. 'M not stupid. Been crying too. Fever hit a while back. This'll be my last.  
  
Losses: Stiles Stilinski [bitten; hopefully Derek'll take care of it. Don't wanna come back as one of 'em]  
Pack: Derek Hale. I'm so sorry. I really am. ~~You know I l~~ I'll miss you, sourwolf.  
Missing: Same old  
No sightings

Good luck, Derek.  
Farewell.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information (especially during long-ish waits for next chapters) you can always go to my writing [tumblr](http://www.tumblr.com/blog/sterekura).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on _the bite is a gift_ :  
> Stiles was granted one last phone call with the sheriff and mama McCall while, in the present, Derek lost Stiles to the infection.  
> And so it continues.
> 
> [Just a little heads-up: There is a minor suicide attempt at the end of the chapter. If that is a problem to you please stop reading or skip it. Just be safe and do whatever makes you happy.]

He'd been crying for a good hour before Derek had reluctantly dragged him to his feet and upstairs into his bedroom. 'Pack some stuff. We're going to find the others.'

 _We._ It was the only word echoing in Stiles' head while he stumbled through his room, mindlessly throwing things in a duffel. Derek wasn't going to leave him. At any other day the thought would have made him smile, but he was too busy just holding it together.

He wanted to properly mourn his dad. With a decent burial and all that. But he wouldn't get it. He wouldn't even be able to see his dad one last time. He was seventeen and shouldn't be dealing with stuff like that. Why was he even trying to fight it? Giving up seemed like a pretty good option for once. He was tired of always moving on, of waging war against one hell after another.

'You're not alone in this. You'll never be,' the reassuring whisper danced across the room and Stiles automatically whipped his head around, finally finding his inner equilibrium the moment their gazes met. He somehow forced a smile on his face and closed his eyes to breathe in deeply.

He needed to concentrate on the here and now.

With new determination he threw everything out of the duffel and started to pack again. This time only thinking of the usefulness of every item.

A few spare clothes wandered into the bag, a first aid kit, some medicine, his toothbrush, a map of California, a little journal from his mom – her initials were engraved on the black leather binding it – his bat and one of his dad's guns.

Derek raised a skeptical eyebrow as soon as he saw the weapon in Stiles' hands, as if he was not really convinced Stiles wouldn't just accidentally shoot him or anybody actually. But Stiles only aimed with steady fingers at Derek's left eye and pondered a moment on pulling the trigger just to prove a point.

'I'm always hitting bull's eye.' He didn't want to scare Derek, nor did he intend to convey the message he'd kill the other without thinking twice about it. 'Safety's on,' he added a bit ashamed and tucked the pistol away under all his clothes.

'No wolfsbane either.'

'Lucky you,' Stiles muttered – ignoring the nagging voice in his head that told him a shot in the eye would kill even a werewolf – and checked every corner of his room.

He wanted to make sure he didn't forget something completely obvious. Though he would surely look into his bag in a few weeks and ask himself why he didn't pack that instead of this.

A thought hit him the moment he wanted to tell Derek that he was ready. He had almost forgotten to pack it. But Stiles could never leave without it. So he pushed his way around Derek's sturdy body into the hall where his father had hung family pictures and took off a frame as big as his hand, gently placing it on top of his other stuff.

His chest tightened uncomfortably when he zipped the duffel bag. He had to leave his house behind. The place all three of them once had happily lived in together. His home. The safest place he'd ever known.

Obviously sensing Stiles' distress, Derek was behind him in a matter of seconds, holding him upright the moment his legs failed to hold his weight any longer.

He distantly heard soothing sounds but his head was buzzing with cries of agony. Every fiber of his being wanted to stay here, keep the Stilinski home safe. Defend it against friend and foe alike.

'We can barricade it,' Derek whispered in his ear and the sensation of hot breath against his skin made him shiver but also cleared his mind in a matter of seconds. It was kind of unfair how easily Derek could calm Stiles. But that's what anchors did, he supposed.

It was not a big surprise to Stiles that Derek turned out to be a magnificent one.

He wanted to answer but the words didn't come out. There was nothing he could say. So he nodded weakly and wiped away a few stray tears before he followed Derek into the kitchen where they packed some water and all kinds of supplies into cardboard boxes.

To Stiles it felt like leaving a whole lifetime behind. Like abandoning his parents. He was glad Derek went outside to pack all his stuff into the Jeep, so he could take a moment to process all of it.

Derek could probably hear him crying again but he didn't care.

He wanted to be a little, scared kid for one last moment. Needed to pretend his parents were standing in the kitchen with him, hugging him close to their chests, letting him smell their combined scents of everlasting love and security. He yearned for one last bit of normalcy before he had to grow up at unhealthy speed once again.

A long lost voice rang in his head, telling him how proud she was of him. How brave he's been since her departure. And how he needs to be brave for a little while longer.

His father's voice mingled with hers and they both told him how deeply they loved and cared for him. _It's time, Genim._

'It's time, Stiles.'

Without a glance back into the empty and dark house, he followed Derek outside to lead them both to his father's tool shed. The streets were eerily empty, no house was lit in the starry night. In the distance he could hear screams – distressed as well as inhuman ones – and walked a bit faster back to the front door.

Derek had already started to nail the windows shut, working at a speed Stiles could only dream of. His limbs felt heavy and tired even though he hadn't even begun to lift the hammer yet.

By the time he was finished with the door, Derek rounded the corner, looking like he just came back from a light jog, telling him he'd barricaded all the other entrances already.

Stiles stared at him for several seconds and involuntarily let go of the hammer, flinching visibly when it hit the ground with a loud bang, forcing a dent into it.

'Get in the car,' Derek ordered in a tender voice. Stiles crouched down to grab the tool again – they could use every weapon they had – and hesitated for a small moment.

One day he would like to come back here, checking in on everything. Maybe even tear the wooden planks away from the doors and windows and rebuild whatever got destroyed by other survivors.

He climbed into the driver's seat and looked over the small interior of his beloved car. Every bit of space was occupied, leaving Stiles to wonder where the heck Derek would be sitting.

'I'll be right beside you,' the werewolf explained and showed Stiles his fangs for a tiny second. He got the hint. 'My loft,' was the last order Stiles heard before Derek started to run, urging him to start the motor and follow the other through the streets of a ghost town.

Stiles forbid himself to take one last look at his house, making an oath to return one day, and carefully drove next to a running Derek, always making sure to keep the werewolf's pace. Some cans and bottles clattered when he mindlessly rounded a corner without stepping off the gas pedal. Derek didn't slow down either.

Without any real warning, a deafening gunshot rang through the silent night and Stiles instinctively hit the brakes while turning his head in Derek's direction to make sure he was okay. But Derek was nowhere to be seen.

Driven only by panic he almost fell out of his Jeep and looked down the street. Someone was retreating back into a house hidden in the shadows but Stiles could hear the snarky voice congratulating him. 'Saved your ass, buddy.'

'From what, jackass? The friend protecting me?' he yelled back and scrambled to Derek who was lying on the street, groaning in pain and clutching the left side of his neck. Blood was seeping through his fingers and onto the street.

'No, no, no, no, no. You don't get to leave me now, you hear me?' He ran back to his Jeep and searched in his duffel for the first aid kit. Who would've thought he had to use it only an hour after packing it on the one person that had sworn to protect _him_?

'Show me,' he demanded and gingerly yanked Derek's bloody hand away. Somehow he didn't even feel the need to gag at the sight of the gaping wound. He probably had gotten used to things like that. How sad and absurd was that?

That crazy idiot had grazed Derek's throat with his shot, but thankfully it seemed like he had failed to injure the werewolf fatally. The bullet was still trapped somewhere inside his flesh though; Stiles couldn't see it between all the dark blood and wounded skin.

Derek had his eyes closed but his breathing was unsteady and his heartbeat fluttering in his chest like a caged bird, frantically trying to escape its prison. With each beat it pumped more blood through his body and out of the wound. 'Fucking heal already,' Stiles begged while ripping open bandages and antiseptics to treat Derek's wound.

Derek shot him an angry look and obviously bit back a sarcastic remark the moment he saw the panic in Stiles' eyes. 'Just get it out,' he pressed the words through clenched teeth and Stiles immediately sighed with relief before he resisted the urge to punch Derek in the face.

How the hell was he supposed to get a stupid bullet out of Derek's neck? Friendly ask it to leave?

'Gonna need a little help here, big boy,' he reminded the werewolf and Derek sighed with a pained look on his face, before he extended his claws and stabbed himself in the thigh. Just like he'd done a lifetime ago when they were lying paralyzed in the Sheriff's station.

'You're doing great,' Stiles encouraged him from time to time, while trying not to get impatient with the werewolf. He could watch the bullet come out at an unbelievably slow pace while he had to witness how the werewolf's body writhed in agony. 'Almost there. Just one more push.'

'Not giving birth to it,' Derek panted in between two tries and grunted loudly when the bullet finally hit the asphalt. Stiles smiled relieved and disinfected the wound before he gently bandaged it. Derek didn't remind him he wasn't in need of it and Stiles flat-out pretended he'd forgotten.

On another day, in a different universe he could hear Derek say something about Stiles finally being able to put a collar and leash on him. Over there, he would joyfully scold Derek and tell him that he didn't get to make the dog jokes.

In the dead of the night with crazy people randomly shooting someone running down the street neither of them dared to say anything.

'It's not healing.' Stiles glanced warily at the spot of blood staining the white cloth and Derek ran his fingers over the thick material with a surprised look on his face. 'Doesn't hurt, don't worry.'

'Don't lie to me.' He was so done with all the deceptions.

Derek let out a long suffering sigh and pulled Stiles close to him. They stayed like that for a few seconds that felt like a whole blissful eternity. He let Stiles go when a second gunshot broke the creepy silence surrounding them. 'It's gone now.'

Stiles still checked the skin under the bandage, humming contently, and let himself be ushered back to his car. 'We need to move on.'

'Don't get shot again,' he reminded Derek with a playful smile that hid the confusion and the blush on his cheeks very well. He had triggered the healing process, hadn't he? Stiles prayed to God he was not imagining it because he liked the idea of being Derek's anchor way too much. In exchange for using the werewolf as one he wanted at least to return the favor.

'Do your worst,' Derek nodded at the Jeep and Stiles eagerly tapped on the gas pedal; only realizing he hadn't even started the car yet when Derek huffed out a thin laugh and started to jog ahead.

They reached the loft without another incident. But Stiles noticed with rising nervousness that the streets weren't as deserted anymore as they used to be a few minutes ago.

He drove past infected people; he just knew. They were staggering, swaying and falling down like flies. Some were already getting up again, with a void wide look in their eyes, ready to pounce on unsuspecting prey.

Watching them mindlessly roam the town, he was glad his father made sure he wouldn't come back as one of them.

'Get out,' Derek said through the closed door, like he didn't accept any defiance. Stiles couldn't care less. He just waved at Derek and pulled out his bat. 'Take your time, princess. I need a minute.'

He tried to play it cool until Derek vanished in the high building with a grumpy frown on his face. It's not that he still thought of Stiles as skinny and defenseless but he also knew that Stiles was in a fragile state of mind right now. Thank the heavens that there was no evil spirit lurking in a corner to possess him again. He'd be unable to stop it, just like the last time.

Stiles watched the glassy front of Derek's loft light up and felt like puking the moment he realized what was blinking against the night's darkness. It was the little tree-shaped christmas lights Stiles had hung up yesterday to help Derek get into a festive mood.

He'd totally forgotten because he and his dad had decided to not get all joyous this year. Instead they had wanted to rest on the couch all day, watching old baseball games and cheesy christmas movies while eating pizza and burgers. Stiles had wished for a normal day after all the supernatural shit they had had to endure, and his father was more than happy to give it to him. And he'd never say no to a free greasy burger.

His dad had shot himself on Christmas Eve.

When Derek emerged from the building again, Stiles was crying so hard he couldn't even breathe anymore. Somehow this was even worse than a normal panic attack. Those Derek could handle by now but this was something not even Stiles was sure how to stop.

'Stiles, breathe with me.' Derek ripped the driver's door open and cradled Stiles' face in his hands. He bit his lip hard to get some control back but it didn't help. Fat tears escaped his closed eyes and all he could do was cling to Derek, fist his shirt so hard it almost came apart at the seams. Derek didn't seem to mind; his shirt already ruined by his own blood.

'It's Christmas,' Stiles managed to choke the words out and Derek's hug grew tighter. 'From now on, every day can be,' the other tried to cheer him up but only made things worse. That was not what Stiles had meant.

'Not without my dad,' Stiles insisted and dared to peek over Derek's shoulder when a thought hit him. Something was missing. It was enough to stop the tears but sadly not enough to calm him down.

'Where's Peter? He should be making sassy remarks about his nephew consoling the token human of our little patchwork pack.'

Derek's face darkened slightly and Stiles could read the answer in his eyes. 'Sorry he left.'

He got a shrug in return and tried to mimic Derek's calmness about his uncle's disappearance. If Derek could hold it together, he damn better shouldn't behave like a little child. He could mourn his father and the end of everything he knew later – much later.

Right now they needed to find Scott. There was still something he needed to tell his best friend. And then they had to get out of Beacon Hills. Find someplace safe.

'You ready to hit the road?' It was time to move on.

Derek nodded grimly and got into his own car, leading them right to Scott's house. Stiles watched Derek get out and deeply inhale whatever he could sniff out there right now. Stiles was able to mimic the motion and draw in a strong breath, finally defeating the panic attack, before the worry that danced over Derek's face threatened to choke him again.

Even though he could barely move, he wanted to leave the Jeep. Needed to hear the bad news in an open space. But Derek shut Stiles' door before he even had the chance to properly open it.

'They're not here. Something else is.'

Stiles rummaged in his duffel and pulled his gun out, angrily wiping away the last remains of his earlier tears. 'They're probably at Kira's place. Scott would make sure she's okay. And Isaac follows Scott wherever he goes. Like the good little beta he is.'

The look of hurt and self-hatred on Derek's face shut Stiles up long enough to curse himself for his stupidity. 'I'm sorry. I know it's still–' Derek raised a hand and stopped his rambling before he could make it all worse. 'We're still pack.'

Stiles' face moved on its own for a while, imitating one of Derek's trademark eyebrow dances, before he just threw his hands up in defeat and helped his baby come back to life. When she purred – after her usual stutter – he remembered that he still had to thank Derek for fixing her.

This time he drove up in front to guide them to the Yukimura residence. Having a purpose, something to do again felt good. He didn't have too much time to think about anything else and that always helped him function the best. His instincts usually told him what needed to be done. And right now he had a message to deliver. He could think about how exactly he'd do that later.

They were still good five minutes away from Kira's place when Stiles hit the brakes so hard he feared his baby would never forgive him for it again. Derek barely managed to come to a halt without crashing into him.

Stiles watched him jump out of the car, eyes flashing their usual pretty blue, and he appeared at Stiles' side at record speed. 'What,' he asked through gritted teeth and Stiles sighed inwardly at the loss of Derek's newfound ability to ask his questions with the proper intonation.

It wasn't necessary to answer to that with anything else than a finger pointing at something ahead of them. Derek followed his gaze and Stiles watched fascinated how the werewolf's carefully crafted mask slipped. For some reason, he felt his blood freeze when the mask reappeared in the blink of an eye.

'We can't just leave him.' Stiles pointed out the obvious, he knew that, but it gave him time to think of every option they had. 'We can't just kill him either. Can we?'

Derek shrugged and leaned over Stiles to grab his bat. 'Might as well,' he answered evenly and Stiles pushed the usually very welcomed weight off of him. This was not the time and place for his unrequited crush on Derek.

'You've always wanted to do that, right?' Stiles can't deny that he didn't think of it once or twice in the past. Even before the nogitsune had taken over his mind and wished death and destruction upon everyone Stiles cared about.

'Maybe,' Derek replied without giving Stiles any hints of his true thoughts. But he knew better. He'd overheard a conversation between Chris and his daughter, telling her about Stiles – the nogitsune – taking possession over Derek; forcing him to burn Chris alive while Allison had to watch.

He knew very well what happened while he was only playing a game of Go, just like he always knew everything. 'Not since he helped saving you.'

Stiles rolled is eyes and jumped next to Derek on the road. 'You've grown so soft.'

The older werewolf flashed his eyes again – as if that still would impress him; it only forced his body into a totally different reaction than sheer terror – and took a step forward before he changed his mind and pinned Stiles against the Jeep in one swift motion.

'Woah, easy there, tiger. Your blood on me is fine. I don't need mine there too,' he complained half-heartedly; always trying so hard to deflect everything with a joke. To fool his closest friends and family. Even without a fox helping him he was a master at it. It was how he'd survived after his mom's death.

Derek's face contorted into a bizarre mixture of creepy glee and annoyed sternness before he settled with a guarded expression.

'Be a good boy. Stay.'

Derek's body disappeared from his vision as sudden as it had appeared there moments ago. The look Derek had given him had said something completely different than the command he'd eventually spoken out loud. _Stop hiding yourself and your feelings. Don't act like everything's okay. I can see the real you._

'Same goes for you,' he pouted and hid his hands in the pockets of his lacrosse hoodie, only now realizing that he didn't even change after training.

Derek waved to show him he'd heard and Stiles watched his whole body going still, bat tight in his hands. The werewolf was waiting for the right moment to strike. He was getting ready to take a swing when a high pitched, very familiar voice called out, 'Derek, no!'

Stiles inhaled the crispy air of the night deeply and threw a calm smile at Derek's face before he took his bat out of the werewolf's hands and led the other at the hem of his shirt to the rest of the pack.

Everyone was there, even Kira's parents, looking all thoroughly panicked like infected people were right on their heels. Stiles checked; there was no one else on the street. But he could make out shattered window fronts of shops and stores. He'd completely missed out on the collective raiding and trying to hide in a bunker part.

'You're okay,' Scott barely shouts in relief and clutches Stiles' shoulders in a vice grip when he inspects the blood on his shirt. 'You're not okay. What happened?'

He then honest to God tried to sniff Stiles and Derek barely managed to hide a grin when Stiles pushed Scott away to clap him on the back and tell him it was Derek's blood. That's what the 'collar' was for. Scott didn't get it but neither Derek nor Stiles seemed to feel the need to explain.

And they had a much bigger problem coming their way.

'We are not killing my dad,' Allison said with determination and stared everyone in the ground who dared to open their mouth to protest. 'There'll be a vaccine, a cure soon. There has to be. Nobody touches him. This is my decision, not yours.'

Lydia laid a comforting palm on her best friend's shoulder and Stiles watched with satisfaction how Allison's grip on her bow relaxed a fraction.

Ethan – or Aiden, Stiles still couldn't tell with complete certainty; without Danny or Lydia in the picture he had never cared enough to distinguish them both – stepped forward and Stiles knew what he wanted to say. Brave little soldier.

Actually, he was thinking the same thing. Cure, yeah maybe, but by then Mr Argent would surely not look as fresh anymore. He certainly wouldn't be one of the hottest DILFs in town.

Jackson stepped protectively in front of the girls and Stiles scratched his earlier assumption that it had been Ethan – Jackson only cared about one of the twins and how he could glare daggers at him at any given time of the day – who wanted to be sure they weren't making a grave mistake by letting Chris Argent live on as one of _them_.

'We're leaving,' Allison repeated in the same stern voice, her resolve not once wavering. Stiles envied her attitude; always had. He still felt like he would break apart any second now. And he also still had to tell Scott a certain something.

'Where to,' Derek asked in a flat tone and rounded Stiles like he was some long lost Disney princess in an isolated tower that needed protection from the big bad world. No one else seemed to mind or pick up on it, so Stiles tried to not pay it any heed either.

Deep down, he knew he was thankful for every time Derek anchored him to reality. For every (not so) subtle try to protect Stiles.

'He's going to kill someone. Or he'll be killed by someone else,' Aiden pointed out and Stiles cocked his head, watching the scene unfold before his eyes.

Ethan inhaled deeply, trying hard not to roll his eyes at his violent brother while Jackson balled his hands into fists and placed himself between the werewolf and Allison's father who was thankfully ignoring them for now.

Scott's eyes flashed red and Stiles knew he barely suppressed an alpha howl. Lydia didn't even deign to look at her ex-toyfriend – Jackson's words, Stiles' thoughts – while Allison and Kira both squinted their eyes. Those two really had become a sweet kick-ass team during his nogitsune possession.

Isaac, Boyd and Erica didn't seem affected by that little heated discussion. They probably knew that Allison would win any argument with the twins even with a blindfold on and her hands tied to a chair. It was all about having the right arguments and allies.

Derek was showing his bitchface and probably congratulated himself that he didn't have to deal with them on a regular basis.

'He's dangerous. We should eliminate him,' Aiden pressed on but didn't dare to even bare his fangs. Scott's eyes still shone bright red, like two back lights on a dark, forlorn and foggy road.

Erica flipped her hair back and stabbed a perfectly manicured finger in Aiden's chest. 'What is it with you always wanting to attack someone?'

Despite the gravity of the situation almost everyone – sans Stiles, Allison and Lydia – smiled until Lydia cleared her throat and took her best friend's hand in her own. 'We're leaving if Allison wants to.'

The dark haired girl only nodded with tears in her eyes and Stiles wanted to hug her for the first time in his life. He desperately wished he could share his burden of also losing the other parent with her but there was no time. He suddenly feared there would never be a right time for anything again.

Aiden opened his mouth and Stiles huffed, acknowledging the beta's persistence when Scott growled dangerously and all the other werewolves averted their eyes at the same time. 'We're respecting her wish. Let's go.'

The pack started to retreat back to their cars, which were parked around Scott's bike, waiting for him to share his plan with them.

'We should get out of town for now. A day or two. I thought about the preserve. Derek?' he asked, a bit unsure. Derek just nodded – as if he had ever been able to keep them away from his home anyway – and Scott smiled hurriedly before facing Stiles. Looking for confirmation.

Stiles' breath caught in his throat, his heart stopped for a traitorous beat.

'Why're you looking at me like that?' he inquired, quickly darting a glance at Derek who watched him with an empathetic face. Scott rolled his eyes and nudged Stiles in the ribs. 'You're usually the one with the plan. Just checking.'

Stiles shrugged; he couldn't care less. The preserve, Nevada, the North Pole, Narnia. It didn't matter; there was no real safe place on earth. But he didn't want to crush Scott's hope so he played along as good as he could.

Scott shot him a confused look but concentrated on his pack again when Kira softly called out his name.

Stiles stepped back into the shadows as smoothly as he could. He didn't want to be in the center of everyone's attention and he sure as hell didn't want to be the one they were relying on. That they were even able to trust him that easily hurt him more than a punch in the face.

He clutched his bat close to his chest and slowly retreated backwards, suddenly colliding with a solid body. He didn't even have to turn around to know it was Derek. The werewolf was not letting him get off the hook so easily.

So he stayed there, Derek pressed tight against his back and his bat in front of him. He had a feeling this would become a thing in the future.

'Okay, you guys should head over to the preserve. Derek can show you the way,' Scott ordered the Yukimuras and the rest of the pack and Stiles felt a wave of pride hitting him from behind.

Scott entirely trusted Derek with the pack which was a good thing for someone like Derek. But it only made Stiles feel sick. He used to be the one at Scott's side; now he gladly hid in the darkness, but still envied Derek. Which was all kinds of unfair.

Derek totally deserved the trust. They were brothers now. It was just that Stiles felt left out of their newly found brotherhood. They had bonded over defeating Deucalion and trying to save him while he had done God knows what.

He tried hard to force a smile on his face when Derek laid a hand on his lower back, steadying him and slowing down his thoughts, but dropped it as soon as he remembered Derek's unspoken words from before. Derek could read him like no one else. There was no reason hiding his feelings of betrayal.

That Derek understood him and his emotions was evident when he whispered with an unseen grin, 'Wait for it.'

Scott looked around his pack until he found Stiles hiding behind everyone else but Derek. 'Stiles and I will drive to the hospital first.'

_Oh._

'Don't you think a little backup would be wise?' Isaac asked; already starting to shift to show his willingness to help his alpha and friend. Scott determinedly shook his head. 'We can handle it.'

The hand on his back clapped him softly twice before leaving his skin again, like Derek wanted to say _See? You're still the one he trusts the most_ but all Stiles could hear was _hospital; he wants me to help safe his dead mother_.

'My mom's there, hiding in the locker room with the sheriff. At least that's what she said in her text. It's been almost three hours but I'm sure they're still there. The sheriff protects them.'

Stiles' heart shattered a bit when he saw the confident look on everyone's face. They all believed his dad to be some kind of hero and he had to break the news now that he was the one who had already ended Melissa's life.

He couldn't do this. He wanted them to remember his dad as the human protector of this town.

Stiles dared to look back to Derek but only felt worse when he saw the concern written all over the werewolf's features.

'We have five vehicles,' Scott urged them on, dividing the pack in seconds. 'Kira, you stay with your parents. Isaac comes with you until I'm back, Jackson takes Lydia and Allison. And Derek will drive the rest of you. Stiles, we need to go.'

Everyone but Stiles and Derek moved. Even Chris Argent was slowly making his way towards them. 'Guys, we seriously need to get out of here.'

Stiles could feel Derek's body stiffen a bit at Scott's words – like he desperately wanted to follow his alpha's order but couldn't because of Stiles – and closed his eyes to avoid the startled look on his best friend's face.

'Dude, we need to go get our parents. I'm not leaving without them.'

Stiles swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, inhaled deeply and forced his voice out as steady as he could. 'They won't be able to come with us.'

He did it. He had started to deliver Melissa's message and there was no turning back. He felt all of their eyes on him, trapping him in his spot. He was sure Jackson would love to push him to his car or that Erica wore an exasperated expression on her face. They couldn't afford to lose any more time. He had to finish this now.

'Stiles, what the hell are you talking about?' Scott and Lydia asked at the same time.

'I'm here,' Derek whispered behind him and the warm hand found its way back to his shoulder blade. Stiles nodded slowly and opened his eyes again; flinching visibly at the forsaken look on Scott's face.

'I have a message from your mom.'

Dead silence answered him. Scott didn't even blink. Only Lydia's beautiful face showed a dawning realization. She probably finally comprehended the warning her banshee powers had most likely given her. She was still struggling to control and fully understand this side of her.

'Stiles?' Scott made a hesitant step towards him and Stiles wanted to stand his ground but his body backed away on its own accord, forcing Derek to steady them both. 'Stiles, what is going on?'

He didn't answer the question in favour of delivering his message. The sooner he did it, the faster they could get the hell out of Beacon Hills. Away from all the painful memories.

'She said she's proud of the person you've become. Proud of being your mom. She loves you. More than you can imagine. She's also very sorry she can't protect you in this new world anymore. Like a mother desires to protect her child. She was thinking only of you when it happened. You were with her in the moment she died.'

He was crying again, still not empty of tears, when he saw Scott doing the same. 'No,' his friend breathed, anger and disbelief bubbling up inside of him. 'You're lying.'

Stiles wished it would only be another cruel trick of the nogitsune but that thing was gone, Stiles was who he has always been – only with a lot more issues than before – and Scott knew exactly that his best friend would never make a joke about this.

Kira hugged Scott from behind while Isaac stumbled towards Allison, searching for someone to comfort him. He'd loved Melissa like his own mom. Her loss obviously hit him hard too.

'No,' Scott repeated weakly and let his girlfriend console him for a few awfully silent seconds – the only sound was coming from Chris Argent slowly creeping their way, gurgling and hissing from time to time – before he stared right at Stiles and asked him about his dad.

If Stiles hadn't been leaning against Derek, he'd have fallen to the ground now. The werewolf was giving Stiles enough strength to keep him standing upright on his shaking legs. He could feel his face twist painfully into a small smile. 'She wanted you to know. Never forget her words.'

Scott didn't care about Stiles' deflection of the question and asked him again what happened to his dad. The man who was supposed to protect his mom. Stiles' lips quivered when he the smile turned sad. 'We should leave.'

His friend thankfully got the hint and wiped away the tears on his face, radiating determination and safeness and Stiles wanted to bury himself in it; feeling too numb and useless.

He could feel Derek's nose bumping into his neck, trying to cheer him up or to tell him that it was normal to go through all those emotions. That he was allowed to be sad and lost. That Derek would be there for him, no matter what. He really couldn't tell if Derek's honesty and care made things better or worse.

'Okay, I– We– Yeah, we really should leave,' Scott decided and placed a small, thankful kiss on Kira's cheek before he gently pushed her towards her parents while simultaneously pulling Isaac into a tight hug; allowing them to mourn for a sorrowful moment.

Everyone scrambled to their cars, getting in just like Scott had advised them to. Stiles watched Scott drive away with Isaac clinging to him like his life depended on it while he and Derek got back to their own cars. He already hated the idea of being the only one to drive alone to the preserve.

'You lied,' Derek stated matter-of-factly and held Stiles' bat as he got in. 'I bent the truth a little, Derek. Scott,' he sighed and rubbed tiredly over his face, 'Scott couldn't handle it right now.'

Derek nodded and gave Stiles his bat back. He made sure to never meet the werewolf's eyes. He too couldn't handle the truth and they both knew it.

'You sure you don't wanna see him?'

Stiles breathed in deeply through his nose and watched Allison's father trip over the pavement. All that was left of Chris Argent was a violent vessel. He didn't need to see his dad's corpse, void of any signs of life and everything that made him his father.

His tongue felt heavy when he answered, 'I can't, Derek. Just thinking of it– I'm already moving on autopilot just to function somehow right now. My dad is gone. And nothing will ever bring him back to me.'

He was tired of thinking about this. Of talking about losses and people turning into monsters. There was no sense in it. And he didn't want to hear one single word about any of it for the rest of his life anymore.

He was _done_.

His gaze drifted over his dashboard and stopped automatically at the clock. It was a few minutes past midnight which meant– 'Happy birthday, Derek.'

Time seemed to slow down; allowing Stiles to admire the perplexed but unbelievably genuine delight flashing over Derek's face.

'How did you,' he began to ask but stopped immediately when Stiles' mask cracked around the edges, showing a shade of sadness the other had seen plenty of times in the last few hours.

The sheriff. His case file. Back when Derek hadn't been the most welcomed guest in their little pack.

Stiles reached out to touch Derek's chest, directly over the heart, trying to feel its calming beat but only encountered bumpy stumbling. Realizing what he could do to Derek usually made him all kinds of happy. Not today though.

'I can drive with you,' Derek offered, now earnestly worried the same moment Erica scrolled down her window and yelled, 'Let's go, lovebirds.'

Stiles allowed himself one last look into Derek's mesmerizing eyes. His lips quivered violently, like he wanted them to perform some sort of easy smile but couldn't force them in the right direction. 'Happy birthday, Derek.'

The werewolf's eyes shimmered in a sad shade of blue and Stiles opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the words failed him. This time, there really was nothing left to say.

For the next six months Stiles would be unable to mutter even a single word; his tongue weighed down by an all too familiar void in his chest.

* * *

Derek doesn't even need to strain his ears to hear the massive horde coming his way. They're maybe five minutes away from them. Him.

He should pack his stuff and leave the cabin, as well as the three corpses in it, behind. He also should make sure Stiles won't ever turn.

And yet he stays where he is, tears long gone but his soul still trying to reach out, and hugs Stiles' dead body.

He's been doing that for the last hour and it feels like the only right thing to do.

Derek knows he won't be able to run away from Stiles. Not until it's done. Whatever _it_ turns out to be. And for that he needs to make some arrangements.

Letting go of Stiles' skinny body is the hardest thing he's done in a while – and God help him, he has done some pretty horrible stuff lately – but it is a necessary evil. Letting go of _Stiles_ will be a completely different matter.

He gets up and stretches his legs, tries to get rid of the numb feeling in his limbs. He's been kneeling on the ground for too long.

With cautious steps he walks over to the table and folds the map, tucks it and Stiles' journal back into the bag where they belong. He then walks through the room, ignoring the bodies, and cleans up their mess from the day before.

When he comes close to Stiles, he stops and retrieves the bottle he'd thrown at him to drink out of it. The water is stale and days old but he can't afford to waste even one droplet. His arm jerks forward and he realizes with angered sadness that he holds the bottle out for Stiles to take it.

A motion his body has performed almost daily the last sixteen months; it is forever ingrained in his muscle memory.

He throws the bottle on the table, offended by its sheer existence and has to bite his lip to not let his frustration get the better of him. He shouldn't attract the horde. They would pick up on his outraged howling and harm Stiles or the other two.

No matter what had occured between them the day before, he can't let anything happen to any of them. After all, they were his pack. Once the horde is gone and there is no immediate danger, he might even be able to bury them. They'd be the first ones of the pack to get the only thing Stiles ever wanted for his dad.

An alpha and his true mate deserve that. So does Stiles but that would mean he'd actually have to do something about the whole turning business and Derek is not yet ready to face that. He still hasn't been able to make a decision.

He hates that he's the only one left to deal with it. Stiles would know what to do. He had taken matters in his hands when Allison had to be annihilated. Stabbed her in the neck and cut deep into her brain without destroying her young and innocent grace.

She died smiling, the dimples still prominent on her blueish gray face.

Derek is not quite sure he's able to muster up the same tenacity as Stiles. Every part of him is screaming not to eliminate him. To just let him run wild once he's turned and move on. Maybe their ways would cross again one day.

But Derek is pretty sure he doesn't want to stumble over Stiles when his vibrant beauty has been replaced by rotten stinking flesh. When his annoyingly charming personality has been eaten away by animalistic instincts since the moment Derek let him wake up again.

Stiles never begged him personally – only made a small hopeful comment in his journal – but Derek knows he doesn't want his body to walk the earth, unable to control his body, just hurting other people. He's done with harming innocent bystanders. He doesn't want to be forced into being a bad guy again.

Stiles just wanted to be free. Of everlasting guilt, deep-rooted hopelessness and an unforgivable darkness. Derek should fulfill his last wish.

But giving Stiles his wings back means watching him fly away laughing while he's stuck down on earth, fast as the wind but unable to reach the sky. He can only howl at the moon, lost, lonely and yearning, but Stiles' soul won't belong to him anymore.

Stiles had given him countless chances to take what's always been his; to love what's always loved him back.

It is too late now.

Watching the first rays of sunlight worming their way through the thick woods and listening to the wind caressing the lush leaves, Derek knows what he has to do.

With a liberating smile he realizes he's never had a different choice. Not since that sarcastic kid crashed into his life flailing and grinning.

It's finally getting easy to breathe again.

He drags Stiles' heavy body outside, leans him against the wooden wall and hurriedly barricades the door. He doesn't have time to properly do it, but the coming horde just has to deem it sturdy enough to move on.

He'd mourn the loss of Stiles' things, but if Walkers do end up breaking through his little defense line he can't help it. He has Stiles with him and that's all that matters.

The first stray Walker threatens to break through the maze of trees surrounding them – Derek can hear its insecure steps and the raspy breaths now very clearly – forcing him to abandon the door and pick up Stiles again.

It's not as complicated and arduous as he'd thought it would be. Climbing up to the rooftop of their little cabin with Stiles hanging loosely over his shoulder is a refreshing exercise after being holed up in that wooden cage for too long.

The roof is flat and hides both of them from the sharp eyes of the horde. He'll stay here with Stiles until they're gone and out of earshot. Derek sincerely hopes Stiles holds on until then.

He really can't deal with his – what? They haven't exactly been best friends, but more than allies, more than pack. Derek likes the sound of soulmates ( _lovers_ ; even thought they had been quite close but still so far away from that) –, his _Stiles_ losing the fight with the infection and turning while they are surrounded by a horde.

Stiles would draw attention; Derek is pretty sure even a turned Stiles could easily manage that without actually doing anything other than just by existing. But attention is exactly the opposite of what Derek wants.

Dealing with a Turned while a horde wants to eat you alive isn't the smartest thing nowadays. All he can do is hope though, believe in Stiles that he can resist the infection long enough and hold on until they're alone again. That kid has always been a fighter. Derek knows he's still capable of being one.

He positions the teen in the middle of the roof and lies next to him, arm draped over Stiles' stomach, head resting on the painfully quiet chest. Derek briefly wonders why he's never done this as long as Stiles has been alive. He can't believe he's missed all the chances the other had offered.

Stiles may have finally gotten peace and left this world without regretting them but Derek couldn't find comfort in any of it.

Should he die now at the hands of the Walkers creeping their way slowly past them, he would regret almost every interaction he has had with Stiles. Any obvious hint he ignored for the sake of– he can't even tell of what. He's not entirely convinced there's ever been a good enough reason in the first place.

Derek grabs Stiles' hand as gentle and quietly as he can and places it on the younger's stomach. He hopes whenever Stiles comes back as one of them that he'll show some signs first. Like moving one of his fingers or groaning. Most of them do. But Stiles has never been one to follow any given rules.

It takes all of his will power to let go of Stiles' cold hand, to not try to rub the blueish fingertips until a healthy color returns. In all these weeks where they killed countless people – infected, turned or just crazy humans – no one of their pack had ever stayed long enough to watch what death did to each and every one of them.

Derek suddenly understands why Stiles never wanted to go back to the hospital for his father.

He wants to close his eyes but can't, in constant fear Stiles will wake up as soon as he let his guard down. So he listens to the hungry Walkers, banging against the cabin's door but never once breaking through Derek's makeshift barrier.

These days, he's thankful for even the smallest favors.

Instead of keeping watch he studies the sky, desperately trying to breathe only through his mouth so he wouldn't gag at the rotten stink of the horde.

The sun is just getting up, pushing its way slowly away from the horizon, illuminating the little puffy clouds in its wake. They remind Derek of a parc on a Sunday and older men making a fortune with cotton candy.

The sky is a nice shade of blue, not as cold and dead as Stiles' looks right now. Up there the colors are warm, the red from the sun embracing everything in its arms, welcoming oddly formed clouds like old friends. It's beautiful.

Derek hopes Stiles appreciates the view as soon as he wakes up. Beautiful things should always horde together.

It's July, the first week of the month has just passed away with Stiles and it's warm outside. Derek can already feel it'll be a hot summer day with a nice cool breeze coming from the Pacific Ocean.

He misses the easy days in Beacon Hills, when he could run through his private property until he was sweating and his muscles started to burn just to run some more.

A time when he still could smell all kinds of scents and emotions. When fresh cut grass reminded him of his youth, fooling around in the woods with his family and listening to boisterous laughter filling the air; the only threat rogue hunters following their own twisted kind of code.

A day when lying next to Stiles seemed impossible but was actually the thing he had wanted the most.

Birds are chirping in the woods but the horde seems unfazed. Everything with wings is hard to catch; Derek knows that all too well.

A butterfly crosses his gaze and he follows it with his eyes while listening to the shuffling of feet and the constant clattering of teeth. It's like they know there's food just within reach but they can't find it. Which doesn't diminish the lust and hunger for it.

It's a yellow butterfly fluttering around the cabin as if it wants someone to appreciate its simple grace. Derek wishes Stiles could see it. They haven't come across one in months.

His right hand grips the leather of Stiles' hunting knife harder, making sure it's still there resting between them in case he needs it. He can't believe he's debated with himself all night when the answer to everything is so clear.

The idea of hurting Stiles is just too absurd for him to accept. His whole life he's tried to protect the people he loved, just to lose or hold them while they breathed out their life. He somehow made it through Paige's death, learnt to live with Kate's betrayal but the loss of Stiles has given him the rest.

He's done with leaving his loved ones behind.

Stiles' knife pierces him into the ribs but it's a sweet kind of pain that grounds him in the present. He needs to stay focused, needs to be attached to reality to do it. Even a dead Stiles is still able to cast a certain calm over him. He has to smile a bit derisive at his own stupidity.

Derek should have accepted way back when they had met that Stiles was _the one_. Only true mates have the ability to anchor you and let themselves be anchored by you in return.

He'd just never thought he'd find one again, so Derek had locked away his heart, unable to break it free again. And still, someone had managed to easily find it in a maze of anger, hatred, arrogance and pain.

He's chosen Stiles' knife because it reminds him of the teen killing Allison. He still can see that scene whenever he closes his eyes and pushes aside the image of a dying, smiling Stiles. She'd not been surprised, just grateful for someone doing the right thing. For Stiles protecting Scott by doing it himself.

How she was able to smile through all the suffering is a miracle to Derek but these kids have always possessed a strength he deeply envies. Derek intends to mimic Stiles' actions but the sheer thought of mutilating Stiles' body seems unbearable.

There's no way he can kill Stiles – turned or not – and yet he knows he must do it. Force that knife into Stiles' skull to damage the brain. That marvelous mind that always knew too much and was too smart for its own good.

It's a shame and by far the greatest sin Derek has ever committed. But it is also a deed that has to be done. Leaving a turned Stiles to his own devices is not something he could ever reconcile with his conscience.

Ending it once and for all is the only thing he can do. Must do.

Seriously, who the hell is he trying to fool?

The horde takes its sweet time to move past them but after what feels like hours – and most likely has only been close to forty minutes – they're alone again. Stiles has held on long enough just like Derek knew he would. Once a fighter, always a fighter. A true Queen. God, one day he really would have to stop thinking of them as chess pieces.

Stiles had told him he could still win the game – still survive – by giving up the queen. By letting go.

But Derek can't honour the queen sacrifice. No matter how much Stiles wanted him to. There's nothing left to fight for and he's tired of trying, of running and still ending up alone. He's lost his whole family – some of them twice now –, his pack and Stiles.

He really hasn't enough energy left in him to start all over again, so he puts the knife into his jeans' pocket, sits upright and hugs Stiles close to his heart. Waits for the inevitable.

If there's anyone who's allowed to infect or turn him, it's Stiles. He can still end the teen's life after he's been bitten. Actually, he has to. But before that he'll feel Stiles come to life in his arms one more time. He'll feel him inhale deeply even though it isn't necessary anymore. For some reason they always do.

Before Stiles can infect him, he will be too disoriented – after all, he will just have woken up – and Derek will use that moment to pretend everything is like it has been _before_. He hopes Stiles takes a chunk out of him in that second of blissful ignorance. Only then, he'll end their lives together.

The sun is already setting behind the large canopy of trees when a bizarre imitation of life ripples through Stiles' cold and rigid body. Derek can't feel it but he watches Stiles nose scrunch up lazily, like he's trying to put everything together before he eventually opens his eyes.

It's time to say farewell.

He's ready.

Only one thing left to do.

Derek knows it's too late for it but he presses a soft kiss on the blue unmoving lips anyway. Maybe the real Stiles can still see or feel it. Even if he can't, this is something Derek has wanted for so long. It's not what he had in mind when he thought about their first kiss but it'll have to do. Death can't take that away from him. He won't let it even try.

Stiles stirs slowly and Derek uses the confusion of him – _it_ – to close his eyes and dive headfirst into his dream world. He guides Stiles icy cold mouth to his throat and waits for the hungry thing occupying the teen's body to emerge. It'll bite him the moment it fully awakens.

Stiles gasps almost inaudibly.

* * *

Day 456  
Mar 22th

N°221 HOW TO PROPERLY ELIMINATE INFECTED / TURNED INDIVIDUALS

DESTROY THE BRAIN NO MATTER WHAT  
(It gets harder the more friends you have to lose like that. But it also gets easier if it's something threatening your family. I'm really sorry, Lydia. We weren't fast enough. We won't trust strangers anymore. Promise. I'm also sorry we couldn't protect Jackson. I sincerely hope you two found each other again; wherever you are.)

Short distance kills  
◦ a knife/sharp object through the eye is the quickest way (also very quiet)  
◦ an axe in the skull requires a lot of strength & good aiming  
◦ same with a baseball bat (you also need more hits to strike them down)  
◦ use any kind of weapon you got. It really doesn't matter. Crowbar, monkey wrench, hammer, screwdriver, etc. Just be smart about it.

Long distance kills  
◦ arrows in the head is the safest option but requires a lot of skill (only Allison is good enough to off them with one shot)  
◦ beheading with sword/machete might seem like a good idea to get rid of some pent up energy but the head can still bite you. DESTROY THE BRAIN!  
◦ guns seem like a safe option, right? Don't. The sound only attracts all kind of infected. Shoot a gun only if strictly necessary! You endanger yourself and everyone else around you!

Losses: Lydia Martin [Day 454: shot by a stranger; turned; Jackson took care of it]  
            Jackson Whittemore [I don't even know what to put here... Day 455: broken heart; won't reTurn]  
Pack: Scott, Allison, Derek, Stiles  
Missing: Parrish, Hale, Deaton  
Sightings: I don't even look at them anymore. It's easier to just off them without thinking about the person they once have been.

 * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who follows this story and has left comments and/or kudos! I love all of you! <333 This is going to be a long and bumpy ride and I'm glad you decided to join me. If you want more informations or updates, you can go [here](http://sterekura.tumblr.com/). I've created that tumblr specifically for anything fic related =)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on 'the bite is a gift':  
> Derek got shot, the pack assembled and together they tried to flee Beacon Hills. In the here and now, Derek decides to end his life with the assist of a zombie Stiles but forgot to consider Stiles' stubbornness.  
> And so it continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus, I am so sorry for taking so long. Extra long chapter to make up for it. I'm also doing Camp NaNo at the moment to (hopefully) work on this story some more.

They never made it to the preserve. A large group of infected surprised them on the way and they were forced to leave the cars to fight for a way through the zombie horde. Stiles used his dad's gun on someone who looked a lot like his favorite kindergarden teacher. It was the only time he'd fired it.

They soon learned that any loud noises were just too dangerous. Any type of infected or turned could hear a gunshot from miles away and followed it. Stiles had hit her straight in the eye and watched her drop down. He didn't trust the corpse one second but she never got up again.

So you really had to destroy the brain. At least one thing of the movies was true.

The zombie group was strong, freshly turned and eager to rip someone's head off. The pack fought back as good as they could. All of them were still a little reluctant to get too close.

Derek was at his side the whole time, fighting off anyone who dared to come near him.

It happened when Stiles spotted Greenberg and coach Finstock among the Turned. Allison shot an arrow right in the coach's head while Kira swung her neat katana and disemboweled Greenberg before decapitating him in one swift movement.

If it wouldn't have been so sad and surreal, Stiles would have been pretty impressed with her sword fighting skills.

He watched Greenberg's head roll around on the street while he could hear Jackson shouting something in a panicked voice. Stiles blinked twice because the words _Jackson_ and _fear_ combined never really made sense to him and only fueled his own terror.

Lydia stumbled backwards, staring at something far away or nothing at all and turned her head as if she was listening to something. Her banshee senses seemed to try to tell her an important detail, but she wasn't able to understand what her powers wanted her to know.

She didn't scream – thankfully – to blend out the reality and concentrate on the voices but she didn't have to. Someone was going to die; it was bound to happen. Lydia didn't get those vibes just for fun.

Derek suddenly hit him hard on the chest, shoving him painfully away from Greenberg's still very much alive head and back to the Jeep. 'Get in,' he growled and pounced onto the hood of the car, ready to strike whenever one of those things would get too close.

Stiles figured it was useless to try and fight his way back to the others; Derek would have never allowed it. A moment of sulking later he saw exactly why he had shielded him off.

The horde had gotten bigger as more turned people emerged from the woods and Stiles watched horrified how Greenberg's head got stabbed with Kira's katana. The bloody tear in her father's pants told its own story. He had been bitten.

Derek had apparently seen it happen and decided it was time to move on; find a way through the woods if necessary. Stiles' safety was his number one priority. Not Scott's order anymore. Only his father's dying wish. Stiles didn't know which was worse.

The group quickly caught on to the situation – not a huge miracle with Kira and her mom screaming loudly _No_ and _This can't be happening_ – but there was nothing they could do. Ethan and Aiden ran to the females' aid without Scott telling them to and Stiles could see Jackson ushering Allison and Lydia back into the Porsche.

Everyone but Scott seemed to think of retreat. Erica and Boyd kept a close eye on Isaac who still looked like he'd seen a ghost. Melissa McCall's death hit him pretty hard. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he was barely able to defend himself.

Derek turned around to face Stiles and waited, frozen on the spot, until he nodded hurriedly. He wouldn't leave the car, no matter what happened.

With a relieved flash of blue Derek jumped down his hood and ran to Scott. He reached the alpha the same time Jackson did and together they tried to pry him away from ripping turned people apart just to get to his girlfriend and her little group.

The Yukimuras and the twins were on the other side of the zombie horde now, separated by hungry, violent creatures and Stiles could see Kira fighting some of them off with her fox powers. Electrocution. Sweet.

But no matter what Scott, Derek and Jackson or Kira, the twins and her mother on their side did, the horde was stronger. There was no getting through. Stiles watched the scene unfold without being able to move an inch – just like the rest of the pack in their respective cars.

He saw Derek screaming at Scott, various emotions running over his face all at once. Obedience, helplessness, the wish to protect, anger, pain, worry. But most of all the just looked lost.

Stiles deflated a bit in his seat and risked a glance at the road behind them; to make sure the way back wasn't suddenly blocked too when he saw one of them lifting its arms to bang on his window.

A roar, loud and wild and desperate, drowned out all other noises and Stiles didn't even have the time to scramble away from his door or to lock it. A shadow jumped at the thing out of nowhere and threw it on the ground the moment its hands collided with the glass.

Stiles could hear the sickening sound of a skull being crushed between two clawed hands. He absentmindedly put his fingers on his window, waiting for Derek to emerge again and thanked the werewolf with a comforting smile when Derek mimicked his movements with his own bloody digits.

Stiles didn't mind the handprint they left on his door. He chose to rather see it as a reminder of Derek's feelings – as hidden and confusing as they might be for the werewolf.

Jackson was still shouting at Scott, ripping apart his shirt when the alpha didn't move. Derek checked the ground surrounding Stiles for more threats and ran to the beta's help as soon as he was satisfied with the results. Together they managed to drag him back to his bike while lightning illuminated the black night, guiding even more turned people to them.

'We're not leaving them behind,' Stiles could finally hear their words again and pondered only a split second before he jumped out of his Jeep and ran to his best friend. He tried to ignore Derek glaring daggers at his back for breaking his promise.

Stiles wanted to say _We have to. They're too strong for us. We'll die if we stay here, Scott. I know you don't want to abandon them but Kira's strong. They have the twins and they'll make it. You are the alpha, there is still a pack you need to protect_ but his mouth wouldn't move.

He couldn't even force himself to talk to his best friend. Misery and dejection had quickly spread their roots inside his heart and sealed away everything he had ever been.

So all he could do to convince Scott to leave right now was to shake his head, wearing a sad expression that clearly spoke for itself: _it's over_.

Scott's eyes shimmered red for the briefest of moments – furious and betrayed – before they turned back to the brown Stiles knew so very well. They could all see the exact moment Scott gave up. He might have turned seventeen and a true alpha not long ago but he was still just Scott. The way too good, slightly naive, I need to save everyone kid Stiles had befriended a year after his mom's death.

Stiles turned away when the heartbroken look on Scott's face got too much to bear and let himself be guided back to his Jeep by Derek. He didn't get reprimanded for getting out of the car like he thought he would. Instead he heard a whispered, 'You did the right thing.'

Stiles watched Scott get on his bike, Isaac clinging to him again. They turned around and drove past him back into the night. Jackson's Porsche was more like a silver shimmer in the corner of his eye; the other teen prone to driving faster than he should.

Derek waited in his car until Stiles did a sharp U-turn and followed the Jeep close behind. This time he did look back, past Derek and the others to watch the horde and the flashes of lightning disappearing slowly into nothing. He knew back then that they would never see Kira or the twins again.

For ten days they kept on moving, driving around Beacon Hills county in big circles; Scott always on the lookout for his lost girlfriend. They all understood and no one said anything as long as Scott still fulfilled his duties as their pack leader.

Stiles didn't talk to anyone and mostly kept to himself sitting alone in his Jeep, watching the family picture he'd taken with him on Day Three. It still made him want to cry but he repressed those feelings to not worry the others. They had enough problems with Scott's sorrow and Lydia's out of control banshee powers.

So he stayed in his car, weeping as silently as he could – to not attract the attention of a certain werewolf – and fought alongside his friends whenever they stumbled over infected or turned people.

Derek was always right next to him, not shielding him as much anymore; allowing Stiles to defend himself and he only intervened when it was strictly necessary. Stiles had initially thought he'd like this new kind of freedom but he had to admit he missed Derek's constant presence.

But he wasn't the center of anyone's world anymore and there were other things to worry about. Like getting enough gas for their cars or provisions to attend to the needs of eight people. One should also not forget the hordes of undead people trying to kill them on a daily basis.

They managed pretty good for a few days and Stiles thought that maybe, only maybe they could make it. It was a hard and dangerous life but they had each other and they wouldn't give up. He wouldn't surrender to the depression trying pertinaciously to take hold of his mind.

But then they saw Malia on one of their supply runs in Ripon. Staggering down the street, lonely and with only one arm left. It hadn't happened recently because there was no trail of blood following her.

Stiles stared at the stump of her left arm and lowered his bat. He couldn't tell why it hit him so hard to see her like that. He wasn't sad because he'd slept with her in a mental institution – and what the hell had he been thinking there? – or because her story was such a gloomy one.

Seeing her now made him realize how little he actually had _liked_ her. For him, she was still the little girl killing her family on a full moon. The girl that couldn't get warm again. He thought he'd saved her – just like he always did – but then he'd met her at Eichen House.

Where she punched him in the face.

He really had a type, didn't he? Erica hissed his name somewhere from behind him but the didn't care. He was still watching Malia creeping her way towards him; the bat resting loosely between his hands. She looked so miserable. So lonely.

All her efforts to become a coyote or a human girl again had been in vain. Whatever she had planned for her future, it was all gone. She wasn't even alive anymore. Just a body walking around, attacking innocent people. He was sure she was so done with that, too. Just like him.

'Stiles, what are you waiting for?' He saw Allison draw her bow, aiming precisely at Malia's head but didn't move. He didn't care. Malia was gone anyway. Maybe now, in death, she could finally get warm again. He didn't wish for a lot but he did hope for at least this small favor.

Stiles turned around to walk away from her approaching form, content with Allison doing the job so he could focus on the next house to loot when he caught Derek's gaze. The darkness he was feeling inside was mirrored in the werewolf's eyes, making him feel even worse than he already did.

The whole losing his virginity to Malia issue had been something he wanted to regret deeply – because he had wished Derek to be the one, even if it sounded cheesy – but couldn't. Killing people he knew, hurting his friends and family, that had been his number one reason for the dark, endless hole his soul had slipped into after the whole nogitsune business.

But right now, staring into Derek's green eyes he wished he'd had the guts to talk about what had happened with Malia. Desperately wished he'd apologized. Maybe not even to Derek. More to himself.

A sickening wave of disappointment and betrayal hit him full on; he couldn't even convince himself he didn't deserve every last piece of hatred Derek could muster up. All these months he had pined over Derek and suddenly he'd just taken the first thing dangling in front of his nose.

But Derek wouldn't be Derek if he'd let those emotions get the better of him and quickly schooled his stubbled features into indifference. For some reason Stiles couldn't name, that hurt more than the wounded look on the werewolf's face.

Derek raised his eyebrows, searching for an indicator of reassurance and began to move in one fluid motion towards Malia as soon as Stiles had nodded minutely.

He didn't look back when Derek stabbed her in the eye with an ice pick. He didn't even shudder at the plashy sound ringing in his ears. But he did manage a jaded smile when he couldn't hear a loud thud. Derek had gently put her down after offing her.

Before he vanished into the next house he looked up at the clouded sky and silently prayed to whoever was listening for forgiveness. No matter how long he'd survive in the New World, he'd never be able atone for all his crimes – especially hurting Derek.

He dragged his body up the porch into the seemingly deserted house and waited in the already heavily ransacked kitchen for the other to catch up. Scott had explicitly ordered them to only search buildings in pairs.

Derek never followed him into the house.

The first month was the worst. After the encounter with Malia everyone struggled hard with the New World they had been thrown into.

Lydia was constantly on edge, pale and disheveled looking, always trying to ignore the voices screaming at her. There was too much death surrounding them and Lydia had to listen to all of it. And yet she never once complained about her powers; hoping that one day they would help her safe the lives of her pack.

Jackson was always only one step away from his partner – it reminded Stiles of the days Derek had done the same with him; those times were over since Malia, and Stiles hated himself so much for his own stupidity – guarding her when the voices got too loud or confusing and left her shaken and unable to defend herself.

When he was sure that Lydia wasn't in immediate danger Jackson cracked one or two jokes with Erica but they soon fell silent again, sensing that the time for jokes wasn't there yet. Not while they were still adjusting to the world and with the losses they had to face.

Jackson's demeanor changed drastically when they encountered Danny and the Whittemores on Day Twenty-two. The pack had been on the road for three days, heading towards the mountains because back then they thought no Turned could climb and they would be safe there, when they had to stop at a blocked road.

What once would have been a traffic jam was now a gruesome version of a graveyard. Cars had collided with others, killed some people instantly but some hadn't been so lucky. There was a lot of blood covering the vehicles inside out.

Stiles even walked past a blood-smeared children's seat. The little bitten off and rotting arm showed him everything he needed to know. Turned could open car doors. That was new and vital information to write down in his mother's journal. These undead people were a lot smarter than the average zombie.

Under Scott's watchful eyes they searched the abandoned cars for anything useful. He had been reluctant the first few times – because at the end of the day it was stealing – but soon lost his hesitation. They couldn't afford to not grab all the stuff they found.

Stiles couldn't remember who had convinced their alpha in the end, but appreciated the fact that both Boyd and Isaac had had this conversation with Scott. He still didn't feel like talking. And now that Derek was ignoring him most of the time – still coming to his rescue in the very last second though, as if failing his father would hurt more than facing Stiles – he couldn't even care about people shooting him worried glances.

They were probably waiting and hoping for him to lighten the mood whenever things got too dire; every time Jackson and Erica tried to fill his old and worn out shoes. Their obvious longing for his voice made him want to never talk again in his entire life.

They had to understand that he wasn't that person anymore. That he'd lost this part of himself with the nogitsune. He would need a lot of time to find himself once more.

A strangled cry tore through the silence; everybody gripping their respective weapons tight, ready to strike down any enemy. There was no one coming at them, just Jackson standing in front of a black non-descript car, looking like he would collapse at even the slightest breeze.

When Stiles got closer he needed several seconds to place the faces he spotted in the car. It was really hard to look past the gray flesh – some of it ripped apart from the bones, leaving big gaping holes where smooth skin should have been – and reconstruct their former looks. But he still understood before anyone else who these three people in the car had been.

Lydia gasped audibly when she finally realized and Allison had to guide her away from the car. Erica and Boyd followed them closely, executing Scott's silent order to never let them stray too far out of earshot. Isaac bowed his head in understanding – recognizing the faces of the Whittemores everywhere even if he and Jackson never had become the closest friends.

Seeing Danny sitting in the backseat, struggling with his seatbelt must've flipped a switch inside of Jackson. His gaze focused and radiated determination. With more force than strictly necessary he ripped the car door right out of its hinges and stabbed his father in the temple.

Stiles watched the lifeless body sag down in the seat. His fingers itched, a voice inside his head screamed _Don't let Jackson do it all alone_ while another reasoned _It has to be him_. He still stepped forward but a firm hand on his shoulder held him in place.

He didn't turn around, didn't need to to know it was Derek, but he breathed deeply for the first time in a long while and closed his eyes at the familiar sensation he had missed so much. They all followed Jackson with their eyes, let him cry out in agony when he bashed his mother's head in.

None of them intervened when Jackson – his vision blurry from all the tears welling up in his eyes – gently opened the back door and slipped into the car next to Danny. Stiles remembered those two running suicides, practicing lacrosse or work out together. Danny had always somehow managed to show people Jackson's true self. Just like Lydia.

Danny Mahealani meant a lot to each and every one of them. He just had been one of those people. Nice, famous but down do earth, kind, helpful, witty. Stiles turned away to never forget the Danny he could see when he closed his eyes.

Instead he locked gazes with Derek, hand still on his shoulder and waited for the telltale sound of a stab wound. For the silence following the death of a Turned.

Derek didn't shy away from the eye contact, obviously not over whatever it had been with this whole Malia/Stiles thing but ready to move on. In the New World they had no time for grudges because such feelings eventually led to a slip up which caused people's deaths.

As much as Derek might have despised Stiles for what he did, he still wanted him to be alive. For now, Stiles would roll with it.

The moment Jackson destroyed Danny's brain and cried out in frustration, Stiles saw something move next to Derek's ear. It was far away down the street and hidden halfway under a green Honda. Sadness replaced his thoughts about Derek and himself and he sighed exhausted while pinching the bridge of his nose.

Killing grown ups who were either infected or already turned was one thing but that was a child; a baby still. The closer he got, the more he could make out. When he spotted a missing arm on the toddler's body he doubled over and tried so hard to vomit – to get rid of everything evil and foreign – but his stomach decided to rebel against him.

He kneeled on the street, clutched his bat close to his chest and thought about that poor baby getting ripped apart by monsters just to come back as one of them. It had been so young, just beginning its life and here it was, already dead but still alive, trying to get close enough to bite one of them. The kid didn't even have teeth yet.

'Stiles, you okay, man?' He nodded weakly and wiped his mouth with his hand. _It's just... Scott, it's a baby. They shouldn't be... It's not supposed to be like this,_ he wanted to explain but the words were failing him. All that came out of his mouth was hot breath ghosting over stubbled skin that was suddenly way too close.

'It should have this bright future ahead of it. Not lying on the street with only one arm left, not being able to crawl or walk properly yet. You don't want to take it out, but you can't leave it either.'

Stiles nodded, painfully aware that Derek had just read him like an open book, and debated with himself if he could just hug Derek until the world righted itself again. He desperately needed a good hug – like the ones his father used to give him; needed Derek, but he didn't think he deserved it. Not yet. Maybe never.

So he avoided being too close to the other and nodded again when Scott shot him a worried look. 'I can do it,' his friend offered but Stiles didn't even need time to think about it. He shook his head and took the bloody knife Jackson was holding out to him.

He'd killed a lot of them over the past few days but he'd never felt like he ended a life before. He'd never felt guilty for doing this.

'Let's move those cars out of the way,' Derek suggested to the others to get Stiles some privacy after his dirty deed. Even without being able to communicate he could still rely on Derek to understand him.

When Stiles was ready to join the others again he caught Scott's signal to just get into the Jeep; they'd be moving in a minute again. The werewolves had done a great job with pushing the blocking cars to the sides to allow the safe passage through this cemetery.

Inside the small confines of his car, Stiles allowed himself to pray silently for the baby and its parents before he wiped away the droplets of blood that had landed on his hands with one of his already ruined shirts. Without water there still remained a faint trace of red he couldn't get rid of.

He still stared at his trembling fingers when someone grabbed his shoulder through his non-existent window. He really should've fixed that after a zombie had managed to bash it in, breaking Derek's handprint into a thousand pieces.

A second hand pressed his mouth shut, so he wouldn't scream while the one on his shoulder quickly opened his door. 'Come,' Derek whispered sharply and Stiles' body followed the other without questioning the strange order. He saw Erica's blond hair disappear into green bushes covered with thorns and cursed under his breath when Derek shoved him into them.

The werewolves would heal, wouldn't even feel the stingy pain but Stiles' skin was sensitive and he couldn't deal with Derek manhandling him like that. He probably enjoyed watching Stiles picking the thorns out of his arms and feet afterwards.

A small horde, clearly just at the beginning of its deadly gathering, passed them by, slowly shuffling their way through the cars and knocking over Scott's bike. Speaking of, where were the others? He'd definitely seen Erica vanish in these bushes a moment before Derek had shoved him into them.

But other than the grumpy sourwolf no one else was hiding with them here. Stiles almost – _almost_ – felt weirded out enough to try to speak again but then Derek shushed him with an exasperated look and ruined any ambitions Stiles might have had talking to him.

As if he still needed a reminder to not talk out loud in the presence of a horde. So all he did was rolling his eyes and quietly looking for the others.

'Stop. Moving,' Derek hissed through clenched teeth, while a hand pressed down so hard on his back that he almost fell to the ground. There was a snarky remark on his tongue – something along the lines of _If you want me pliant and willing on the ground, all you have to do is ask nicely_ – but he swallowed it down when a Walker strayed off the path and wandered dangerously close to their hideout.

Five minutes later everything was quiet again. The horde had continued its walk through the world and let them all breathe in relief again. Allison was the first to emerge from the woods behind them, her smooth skin unharmed by the thorns sticking annoyingly to his whole body.

In fact, no one of the pack had to deal with these little clingy fuckers. No one but him. Derek had pushed him into this bush on purpose. Some kind of childish revenge. At least that's what he gathered from the smug look on Derek's face. He forced his lips into a sarcastic smile and jumped into his Jeep, driving away before anyone could even comprehend why he was so pissed all of a sudden.

If Derek wanted to play games, he would get one. Stiles had defeated a Japanese trickster spirit; he'd make sure Derek would never forget that.

His resolve wavered roughly two hours later when he smashed in the head of a poor young man before he could take a bite out of Derek's deltoid. He couldn't afford to let his guard down because of a stupid game they were playing. Losing Derek would be the last nail in his coffin.

Stiles rather tried to save the werewolf's life than beat him at something that wasn't worth it. Not anymore. So he swallowed down his hurt pride and even allowed Derek to help him get rid of a few remaining thorns still clinging painfully to his skin.

Stiles never got an apology for it but he figured he didn't want one. And the slightly satisfied, but mostly serene shimmer in Derek's eyes felt more like a reward than an actual, well deserved punishment. Derek really had changed since they all had become allies of some sorts.

* * *

Day 05  
Dec 26th

N°2 CALENDAR

Day Zero: Worldwide outbreak (Dec 22th)  
Day Three: Outbreak Beacon Hills (Dec 24th)  
Day 03 = Dec 24th (†J. Stilinski & M. McCall)  
Day 04 = Dec 25th (Derek's birthday)  
Day 05 = Dec 26th  
[…]  
Day 13 = Jan 03th († Malia)  
[…]  
Day 22 = Jan 12th († Danny, The Whittemores)

* * *

Derek's body stiffens at the familiar sound and he has to remind himself that the thing keeping Stiles alive is not what it used to be. Everything that has made Stiles so special is gone. All that's left behind is the body, slowly waking up limb by limb.

The lips on his neck are still cold but he can feel them part, scraping over his skin lazily as if they want to test the foreign texture first before they reveal the teeth hiding behind to sink them into him.

Even after his death, Stiles just can't rush things. Even his undead self has to savor every second.

The sun is hitting its zenith in the now spotless sky. The puffy clouds have vanished, making way for a blue that rivaled his uncle's beta-eyes. It's warm, not disgustingly so but close to being one of the hottest days of the year.

The only source of coolness is the lazy breeze from the Pacific Ocean. Derek is so grateful for the salty smell tuning out the one of rotten flesh, dried blood and walking carcasses littering the world.

The scene is unnaturally idyllic, with thirteen birds chirping merrily in the trees around the cabin, not able to understand the fragile state of their environment right now. Or they do and just can't care less. Nothing has really changed for them since the Outbreak.

Stiles' body stirs, eyelashes flutter against Derek's stubbled chin. He can hear the thing inside Stiles trying to take a shaky breath – part of him still used to doing so – and a broken sound escapes its lips. He can feel it clashing against his skin.

'No, no, no,' moans a raspy voice and it reminds Derek of a dying man squeezing out his last breath. For a moment he's not sure if he has said the words himself or if he has hallucinated them. When the voice breaks out into wretched sobs and a hand grabs the back of Derek's neck, he fights the impulse to let go of Stiles' body and somehow manages to hold on.

His mind is playing tricks on him, but he's strangely okay with it. Imagining the real Stiles taking his life is way better than thinking about the decaying thing in his arms, abusing Stiles' skin for its own agenda. Besides, he wants this. He's ready to let go. Ready to follow Stiles.

'I shouldn't be here,' it whispers against his neck, sounding lost and confused and so sad that it almost tricks Derek into thinking Stiles has somehow come back. He wishes it would just hurry up and bite him already. Then he can take it out and finally close the last chapter of his life.

'Why am I still here?' It's not giving up asking him questions he cannot answer. Mostly because Stiles isn't here with him anymore. Is his mind fooling him into thinking Stiles is still alive so he won't execute his plan?

The body in his arms doesn't move anymore and Derek imagines two hollow eyes staring at the sunny sky while the infection takes over the smart and unique brain to tell it the only available orders now: feed and destroy.

But the thing in his arms keeps on talking, just like Stiles always has done. It's unnerving and irritating to wait for his own demise while listening to someone speaking who should, by all means, not be able to form coherent thoughts.

'Man, dying takes longer than I thought,' it complains and Derek wants to huff out a laugh. It's bizarre to hold that thing that is not even struggling against his hug. It's just lying there in his arms, content with its position and the world.

Derek is pretty sure he's finally lost his mind when the deceptive voice rasps out an all too familiar _Dude, this sucks_.

The body in his arms relaxes as it uses Stiles' head to take a look around. Derek feels a strange emptiness when Stiles' lips leave his neck. He still doesn't want to open his eyes. He doesn't want to find out it's just a dream.

'Derek?' it mumbles and tries to stand up but Derek reacts immediately, wrapping the thing possessing Stiles tightly in his arms, pushing its lips back against his neck. Why won't it bite already?

'Okay,' it huffs out surprised and asks, 'Why are we on the roof?' How does it even know where they are? How does it recognize things like him and their surroundings? And more importantly, why won't it stop talking, tormenting him?

This might be the only Turned he knows who doesn't bite or attack directly after waking up as one of them. If he's not imagining all this – and a part of him yearns for Stiles to still be there –, then it could be that a part of Stiles' consciousness is still controlling that thing. Like Boyd coming back for Erica, or the blond having those two lucid moments right before the end.

If Erica and Boyd exhibited a special bond, he and Stiles could have that too. Being bitten by something that still has part of Stiles' feelings is better than anything he could've asked for. It makes everything easier.

It stops moving again and they remain like this for a small eternity. Derek awaits the inevitable bite while the thing in his grip just seizes the day, enjoys the wind whirling through its long hair and nuzzles its nose against his neck.

He can't feel a breath scraping over his skin anymore – it must've learned that inhaling and exhaling is not needed – but Stiles' lips graze his neck when he suddenly starts to giggle. Derek can feel his eyebrow twitch in irritation which causes that thing to snicker even more.

It's making fun of him. A dead thing is _giggling_. His hallucinations have reached a new disturbing low.

'I guess this is the moment I should rip your throat out... with my teeth.'

Derek almost chokes on his own breath. The illusions have gone far enough. By now they're just hurting him more than easing the pain of loss, despair and loneliness.

Then the thing starts to burst out into a loud, boisterous laughter; its whole body shaking violently and it takes a lot of effort to not let it go. It hugs him then – and not in the _I'm going to eat you now_ way; no, it's a comforting warm, relieved embrace – and Derek is so perplexed that he finally opens his eyes.

He expects the cruel reality now. A struggling corpse trying to rip him apart, to stain those sinful lips forever with the very essence of his life, to satisfy its basic killer instincts. Something looking at him with dull brown-grayish bloodshot eyes, glazed over by death and endless hunger and a sickeningly pale face.

Something that has once been pulsing with life, dragging everyone around it into a state of happiness with just a snarky remark or a gentle smile. Stiles had been their heart, the calming influence, polarizing friend and foe alike.

What looks him in the eye, holds his gaze with practiced ease, is not like anything he imagined.

This thing is still pale, almost as white as a sheet of paper, giving it an intangible touch. Its lips aren't rosy anymore but the harsh blue has vanished. If he squints it almost looks as if Stiles is wearing the last remains of a light blue lipstick.

Veins stick out on the ashen skin, reminding Derek of his leeching powers and the little lines that appear whenever werewolves take suffering away from someone.

It's still wearing Stiles' face, his black hoodie he was so fond of, the slightly longer hair he always had wanted to cut again but simply had forgotten in all the haste.

The two things that make Derek's heart clench painfully in his chest are the honey colored eyes staring right back at him, sparkling mischievously as if their owner is enjoying a private joke and the bright, pleased smile greeting him.

His whole body hurts just looking at it; showing him everything he has lost with great detail. He hasn't imagined his last seconds on earth to be like this. All he wants is a bite from the only person he'd ever accept one. From the one guy who has always resolutely resisted the temptations of _his_ bite.

It's lying in his arms, radiating softness and life. He has to rule his emotions in to check for a heartbeat. He can't find one. Whatever _it_ is, it's dead. And it's not– 'Stiles?'

The hopeful question burns his throat and he feels betrayed by his own mouth. People get bitten, they die from the infection – if they're not ripped to shreds by those things first – and come back as either a Crawler, a Walker or a Runner. They don't die and wake up without a heartbeat, soul and mind still intact.

They don't.

'Who did you expect? Chris Hemsworth?'

Stiles did.

It – he – raises an eyebrow and cocks it's – his – head. 'Natalie Portman?' It can't be true. Why hasn't it taken a chunk of his flesh yet? Why does it keep on talking? Maybe he should just plunge the hunting knife into it's head. _Stiles_ ' head. End it once and for all before it messes him up even more.

His fingers can't move an inch. The knife seems like a dead weight in his pocket, pulling him closer to the body in his arms as if it senses its master being awake again. He's caught in a dream again and there's no way to escape it. Derek knows he doesn't particularly want to either.

'Steve Rogers?' it – he – asks, this time unsure and the look on the pale face resembles the stormy feelings in Derek's chest. He still hasn't found the energy to talk again. Afraid that if he would ask a second time, the answer would be different.

'You're supposed to say _He's not even a real person_ in that cute, grumpy way of yours.' Its – his – smile falters, vanishes off the still beautiful face and leaves behind slightly quivering lips. The warmth never leaves those enigmatic eyes. Whatever dream Derek has fallen into, he doesn't want to wake up again. This time he doesn't even care.

'Derek? You're scaring me. Say something, please.'

Derek lays his forehead on the bony shoulder and tries to breathe in Stiles' spicy, earthy scent. It's still there, hovering around the thing claiming to be Stiles, reminding him of a time before the Outbreak when he could still smell every single emotion taking over the teen's body.

He can still make out the faint smell of electricity and fox from the nogitsune – no amount of showering helped Stiles to get rid of it – and the sweet scent of pills mingling with _Stiles_. It's all still there, buried forever in his memory. He wishes he could make it out now too.

The deep rooted care and worry trying to outweigh guilt, thunderbolts crashing into a century old tree, setting it on fire. Teenage hormones fighting for composure, like waves hitting sun-warmed sand and drowning carefully crafted sand castles. A mind that never shuts down, always on the move. Like raindrops drenching everything in their way, able to give life but also to take it.

Stiles had smelled of the earth and the heaven, grounded yet free. His scent had been able to confuse Derek in the blink of an eye.

Now he can't smell a thing. Underneath the last lingering bits of Stiles that feel like home to him, there's nothing left. It's more painful than watching Stiles die in his arms.

Derek can't distinguish the mesmerizing scent of Stiles from the disgusting stink of the apocalypse. It's been like this for over a year already. Before the Outbreak he could smell the teen from the other end of town if he concentrated enough. After a few weeks it got harder and harder, until he reached a point where he couldn't make out Stiles outside a five mile radius.

If this all is real and not just a cruel but welcomed dream, he doubts he will be able to smell Stiles even if he stands right next to him. For the first time in his life his finely honed werewolf senses are useless. How is he supposed to protect Stiles if he can't even smell the teen's distress or fear? What if they get separated? How will he be able to find the other if not by smell? Shouting or making noises is the worst thing to do these days.

'Derek, come on. Say something, anything. I need to know that this is real. Maybe I'm in heaven. Cause you're here. Or I'm in hell. Otherwise I wouldn't still be stuck in a dying world. God, I thought it'd be over once I was finally dead.'

Stiles rambles on and on about how unfair it is to still walk among the dead even though he should finally be free and how he can't feel the pain of the infection anymore, which is a good thing because it obviously hurt like getting kicked in the jewels for a good ten hours straight.

With each word he says, Derek gets more aware of their position and the dead weight in his arms. He wants to believe that it's Stiles, maybe even needs to, but he can't quite convince himself to do so. It's foolish to think they would get a second chance.

'Seems like the bite really is a gift,' Stiles muses and watches his wrist – the right one – with curious eyes. It's that phrasing that breaks Derek out of his reverie. 'Maybe I'm back for some unfinished business. Am I a ghost? Don't worry, I'm not gonna haunt you or peek on you while you're washing in a river.'

Derek lifts his head and dares to look Stiles in the grinning face again. He's not a ghost. There's no such thing. But then again, they thought zombies were impossible too. But he can touch Stiles; he's not flickering in and out of vision. There's a solid body resting in Derek's lap, talking about the gift of a bite.

Something Derek has preached for so long – setting Scott's obsession alight to convince his best friend with these words of the werewolf bite – but now he's not so sure he wants to hear them ever again. Getting bitten by an Infected is not a gift, it's a curse, because it means you die no matter what.

Surviving a werewolf bite is a battle of the mind, not of the body. Stiles would have lived through that without breaking a sweat. But he died. Watching Stiles pass away was anything but a gift.

'You're dead,' he finally manages to croak out and Stiles' eyes light up – not at his words but at hearing his voice again. 'I saw you die. Why are you back?'

Stiles raises his left eyebrow in disbelief and scrambles out of Derek's grip. Without the dead weight in his arms he feels like a part of him is missing. He's held Stiles for so long, he can't even remember how it has been without him.

'Someone's really happy to see me,' he pouts and crosses his arms over his chest – one that is bare of a heartbeat, the evidence of life. 'Don't be such a sourwolf. Maybe I'm immune. I could be the cure for humanity.'

Derek shakes his head, a slight sheen of sweat gathering on his forehead. The merciless heat of the summer's day and this whole surreal situation are catching up to him. Stiles' body looks unfazed by wind and weather and Derek's sure he's also cool to the touch but he doesn't dare to reach out.

It's still possible he has already been bitten by a turned Stiles and just hallucinates all of this before the fever eventually kills him. The real Stiles couldn't be even here with him anymore. Derek doesn't particularly want to find out. So he plays along.

'You're not immune,' he corrects Stiles in a husky whisper, 'You died. In my arms.' He feels like he needs to emphasize that over and over again. I doesn't convince either of them for various reasons.

Stiles sighs loudly, obviously hurt by Derek's words but he tries not to let his feelings get the better of him. Derek wonders if Stiles is even able to feel in his current state. There's so much to learn and he's not sure if he still has the energy left for all of it.

All he wanted to do on this roof was to die in piece, side by side with Stiles. Now he has an undead companion he's not entirely convinced is really there at all and Derek's still alive.

'Yeah, thanks for the reminder. I was there, remember? But this is really not a conversation I wanna have on a rooftop.' Stiles stands up and suspiciously eyes the distance between the roof and the ground, judging internally if he can make the jump without breaking his bones. They would never heal again, Derek realizes panicked and gets up, holding Stiles back around the waist.

'I'll take you down. Brought you up here, too,' he orders and winces when he hears the harsh tone he's used but Stiles just smiles knowingly and lets the _I don't respond well to orders_ slip this time.

It's harder this time, carrying Stiles' body down the wooden surface, so after a few futile attempts to climb the cabin down step by step he just lets go and lands on his feet, Stiles firmly tucked around his waist and shoulders. His ankles hurt for a second but as soon as Stiles slides down to the ground the pain is gone again.

Stiles stands there and tries to deeply breathe in the warm and summery air but stops almost immediately. Derek averts his gaze to not spot the disappointed look on the teen's face. His lungs aren't working the way he's used to anymore. One day he'll ask if Stiles can smell anything at all. If taking a deep breath hurts because of the air stuck in his chest.

They have no idea how an undead body works and finding out isn't exactly on Derek's To Do List but he'll come around. Until then he'll keep Stiles' hunting knife safe and close to him. The other is a deadly killing machine already. He really doesn't need any weapons on top of that.

'I barricaded the door,' he explains matter-of-factly and Stiles steps closer to examine the wooden planks hastily nailed to the door. He doesn't comment on the fact that Derek has held him close after his death – without a doubt waiting for Stiles to turn and kill him – or that he has cherished their belongings enough to protect them from the world.

Instead he grabs one of the planks and just yanks it off without much effort. Derek watches the scene unfold as Stiles let go of the wood and stares at him. 'Bang up job, Derek,' he jokes and frees the door of the remaining planks. 'If I can do that, a Walker would also be in the cabin in seconds.'

Derek doesn't mention that his hastily build barricade has survived a whole horde of Walkers earlier in the morning. No human should be able to destroy it without proper tools. He's more than wary to follow that thing inside the cabin.

Stiles stands in the middle of the room, looking down at Scott and Allison's bodies lying in the corner like the are just sleeping and sighs sadly. 'I want to bury them.' Derek nods. He's been expecting the request.

They don't talk until there are two deep holes in the ground behind the cabin. The sun has just vanished out of their sight and Derek can feel the air getting colder again. He's still sweating from digging the graves. Stiles looks like he just got out of bed. Not a single drop adorns his ashen face. Derek can't say it's soothing to know why Stiles doesn't sweat anymore.

'They're deep enough that no creature will find them now, right?' Derek nods reassuringly and walks around the graves to pick up Allison. Her body isn't stiff from rigor mortis anymore, so it's a lot easier to carry her to the hole and gently put her inside.

He can see Stiles having some problems with Scott's rigid body but eventually he manages to not let his friend drop even though he trips more than once. It's harder for him to put Scott in the hole and he stands there like he's trying to figure out the hardcore level of Tetris.

Derek is hit with a sense of familiarity and jumps in the empty grave to help Stiles out and ignores that feeling. He has no time for blind trust anymore. Stiles is dead, undead, and dangerous. He could snap at any moment, giving in to the pull of the infection. It's only a matter of time until he'll lose his mind.

But Derek is prepared; the hunting knife a cooling surface on his back. Stiles might be stronger now but Derek's still a werewolf and therefore faster.

'We should say something. I just don't know what,' Stiles confesses when Derek climbs out of Scott's tomb and steps next to Stiles – always keeping a distance that could safe his life. Stiles doesn't miss it but stays quiet, a wounded look crossing his face for a brief moment before he deliberately steps further away from Derek.

He hasn't known it was able to feel so stupid, hurt and lonely at the same time. It would seem that Stiles was still able to experience all kinds of emotions. And right now he has caught up with Derek's mistrust and hesitance, so he's giving Derek his space. No matter how much it may hurt him.

'I'm sorry for everything, Scott. I hope you know that. I never wanted to be responsible for Allison almost dying at the hands of the nogitsune. And I definitely never intended to kill her myself. It was just something I had to do. You, or God, I don't even know anymore, punished me for it. That's okay. I deserved it. I think I would have attacked you too if you had harmed Derek. Just, don't be mad at me, okay? I didn't want to take her away from you.'

Stiles swallows hard and crouches down to touch Scott, but his friend is too far away, so he runs his pale fingers over his eyes and Derek almost believes he has seen a tear being wiped away on the teen's face. They don't cry. Not like this.

'Ally, sweet lovely Ally A. Forgive me. I may never have said it, but I really liked you. And I was always rooting for you and Scott. You were a bad ass warrior and a good friend. I loved you both, no, I still do. And as long as I'm allowed to do so, I won't stop.'

Derek doesn't miss the deliberate choice of wording and has to rule in his own emotions to not run over to Stiles – they're separated by two deep graves now; if that hasn't some hidden meaning he's gonna eat a broom – and comfort him. They both desperately want to believe it's not just some mean joke of Fate. That Stiles may be dead but he won't turn further.

'Goodbye,' Stiles whispers and starts filling the holes again, sensing that Derek has no words left. That he's still struggling with this situation and that he shouldn't push the werewolf. So Derek says his last goodbye without opening his mouth, thanking Scott for being his brother, friend and alpha and Allison for changing the code of her family. He has never thought he would miss her as much as the others. Like his former betas or Scott or Stiles. But he does.

The night passes without them saying a word; Stiles keeping himself busy with studying the map, updating his journal, packing everything so they can leave first thing in the morning. It's pretty clear he's not tired, he doesn't even slow down one second to take a break. Derek reminds himself that Stiles isn't human anymore. There is no need for sleep.

He himself is totally exhausted. He hasn't slept for almost three days now and its starting to take its toll. But he can't just close his eyes and drift off. Derek hates himself for falling back into his old habit of mistrusting everything and everyone but he cannot rest until... until what?

Stiles will stay in this _state_ for the rest of his days. It won't change – if they're lucky. It would be the first time.

He's sharing this cabin with something supernatural, something that's smiling sometimes when it thinks Derek is not watching it – but he's always looking at it, expecting it to turn completely and attack him – like it really means it. Like it's finally free. Derek doesn't trust it, won't ever be able to.

With a small sigh he thinks he'll just have to trust Stiles then.

He's sitting in the corner farthest away from his companion, spying on his every move but sleep tries to lull him into carelessness with such a force that he's close to just giving into it. He wanted to be free too. Now it seems like neither of them has been granted their last wish.

Stiles is still wandering the earth, a potential danger to not only the werewolf, and Derek is still breathing in air that's always too cold, always hurting his windpipe and chest.

The moon shines brightly through the small window and illuminates Stiles' hunched form in a way that's too familiar for Derek. He has always thought the teen would look otherworldly like this, yet at the same time like a bold flower pushing through a thick layer of snow. It is a small comfort that Stiles – dead or undead – is still special.

Stiles is sitting on the table, eyebrows drawn up in a constant frown and he seems to be studying the map but Derek knows better. The other has been staring at the same point for hours, his eyes not once moving over the faded out lines and names. He's lost in thoughts and Derek is dreading the moment he will work up all his courage to finally talk to him.

He wishes they could coexist in reticence forever. Derek is not ready to deal with the aftermath yet. And he definitely doesn't trust his own words to not hurt the other more than his silence already does.

When Stiles' eyebrows scoot down again, Derek knows it's just a matter of seconds now. The other is wearing a determined expression and the sinking feeling in Derek's guts intensifies the moment Stiles opens his lips. 'We need to talk.'

He can't act like he hasn't heard the words, Stiles has spoken them loud and clear, disappointment seeping into his voice and the way he moves his body.

The whole day Derek has concentrated on his point of view. How dangerous Stiles is now to his life and the ones of innocent people – and doesn't that ring a bell – but also how easily Rogues could mistake Stiles now for what he truly is: one of _them_. Traveling with the teen is a bad idea. Leaving him an impossible one.

He's been worried about his life, how he should treat Stiles, behave around him when all Stiles wants is normalcy. He may be a living, walking corpse but he's still him. He doesn't wish to harm Derek, hasn't even tried to come close once this day, respecting whatever crisis Derek is going through.

Stiles is gone, dead, but he's still able to feel. Or at least to understand the concept of emotions.

What Derek hasn't been considering is how Stiles must feel about his whole ordeal. What's going on in the troubled mind of his and how much he's willing to share with a very wary Derek. He's been so self-absorbed that the thought of Stiles' misery hasn't even crossed his mind.

Stiles tries his best to hide anything from Derek but he knows the teen in and out, can read everything in the micro expression on his face, the movement of his body. He can't fool Derek. Not anymore.

Knowing very well what his words will do, he answers while slowly getting up, 'We should leave.' And he means it. They should move on – together because he can't abandon Stiles; a murderous creature yes, but never Stiles – and find another place where they can survive for an estimated time before they have to run again.

His body is betraying him, almost sagging down the wall again, demanding in a high pitched scream to let it rest but he can't let his guard down. No matter how much he wants to trust Stiles.

His companion isn't happy with his answer and Derek doesn't expect him to back down. Stiles doesn't disappoint him. 'No, first we talk, then we walk.'

Derek wants to argue that they don't have the luxury to sort things out. That the horde passing them by could come back any second. Stiles won't have any of it. He's done with Derek's distanced behavior, the hard glances he casts the teen to monitor his every move. The stubborn silence they had left behind all these months ago.

Also, Stiles keeps on saying _we_. Derek isn't entirely convinced they are still a _we_.

'I'm sick of you treating me like a ticking time bomb, Derek. This whole thing is as weird for me as it is for you. I don't know what to think about it or how to even act around you because everything I do seems to put you in a panicked frenzy and you get this horrible look on your face that says _I need to kill him before he kills me_. So yeah I think we have a lot to talk about.'

Stiles' chest moves rapidly and Derek realizes numbly that the teen still breathes. He's also upset, hurt and feels like Derek treats him wrong. Derek can't smell these emotions on the other anymore but he can see them flickering over Stiles' face, lightening it up before pulling it back into the darkness again.

'I don't know what you want me to say. I saw you die. And now you're standing here, talking, thinking, _feeling_ ,' he tries to defend his behavior but Stiles just jumps from the table and freezes when he catches Derek practically squirm away from him.

The undead teen holds his hands up in defeat and retreats back onto the table. His eyes shine with unshed tears and suppressed anger; Derek wants to slap himself for letting his fear get the better of him.

'Fine. I can accept that.' Stiles sounds bitter, almost heartbroken and wiggles his hand to address Derek's desperate need to keep his distance. 'Maybe we should stay apart. Or even split up. I'm too dangerous to be around.'

No, no, no. That's so not what he wants. His mind and soul scream in agony _Derek, that's wrong_ while his body just won't move towards Stiles to show him he doesn't want to leave alone. Strength in numbers; even if one of them is a Turned. Stiles seems to handle the situation pretty well. At least on the outside. Why can't Derek do it, too?

'I've already packed my stuff, so,' he trails off, the hope Derek will hold him back evident on his young face but Derek can't utter even a single word. His mind is still stuck on Stiles leaving.

'But before I go, can we at least still talk this out? I don't want to leave like this,' he all but begs and casts Derek a wary glance. Stiles has stopped moving and it painfully reminds Derek of the nogitsune because Stiles is _always_ moving. It's a part of him Derek has come to love.

He feels it burning inside his veins, the wish and need to calm Stiles down, to assure him that they don't need to split up. Derek will come around and Stiles will be okay. They'll continue their journey southwards, maybe even have their sunset date and finally find someplace safe.

His mouth just won't cooperate no matter how hard he tries.

'Okay, that was– well, I got the message.' Stiles slides down the table and shoulders his backpack while Derek just stand there pressed to the wall, unable to hold him back. Two years down the drain. He's about to lose the only thing that he's so desperately wanted in his life. He needs to stop Stiles from leaving. _Now_.

Stiles walks to the door, some steps confident, others hesitant and Derek fears he'll walk out of his life without turning back. Stiles opens the door and a slight breeze ruffles through his almost curly hair. Derek can smell the ocean, the trees surrounding them and faintly but always there, the stink of a dying world.

He can't let Stiles go to survive out there alone. Rogues could kill him, other Infected could kill him, Stiles could turn completely and no one would be there to stop him. Or to hold him while the last droplets of life leave his body. Derek is sure Stiles doesn't want to be alone – no matter if this state passes or not. And he's also sure _he_ doesn't want to be left alone either.

Derek finally manages to open his mouth, yet no word wants to elude it. He watches horrified how Stiles walks out of the door and barely registers his chest moving at top speed, violently pumping air through his nostrils, making his heart beat in a tumbling hysteria.

Stiles is gone from his vision and his legs are about to give out when the teen rushes back in and throws the door closed so hard it almost unhinges even though he has barely touched the wood. At the moment the younger really is a ticking time bomb.

He has uncontrollable power at his disposal and doesn't even realize it. He could snap Derek in half without wanting to. They will have to work on Stiles managing his strength before they do anything else. It's almost like teaching him how to control the shift. He can do that. He has enough practice with that.

But for now he's content with watching Stiles storm through their little shelter, throwing his bag under the table and watching Derek with furious eyes. Derek is eternally thankful for Stiles' stubbornness or else he would have lost the teen right there and then forever.

'You would just let me go? You didn't even try to hold me back. Derek, seriously, what the heck?' Stiles hisses at him, mindful of any loud screaming that could attract unwanted attention. He wants to answer that he would have found Stiles but this time his mouth doesn't move because of hesitation but because he would be lying.

He can't make out Stiles' scent anymore. It's as if Stiles just smells like air. Not rotten or decaying; neither bloody nor reeking of day old sweat. The moment Stiles would have vanished into the woods, he would have been lost for Derek. He has been playing a dangerous game with not answering Stiles.

'You scare me.'

He has finally said it. Stiles deflates in front of him, all anger leaving his body in huffy breaths. He ten puffs his cheeks and Derek almost smiles because it still looks ridiculously cute.

'Yeah, I'm scared too. I mean, I should be dead, right? I remember dying, I remember your sad face and how the colors faded away to make way for a calming darkness. And then I open my eyes and I'm still in your arms, just under the open sky – thanks for the scenery, by the way – and also still there. No pain, no fever, no nothing. Just you holding me tight, waiting for me to–'

Stiles stops himself there and averts his gaze, knowing full well that this is a discussion Derek can't have right now. Not on top of all the zombie stuff they need to talk about. He surprises Derek with a kind smile and a few steps in his direction. This time he doesn't try to keep the distance between them. He's been so close to losing Stiles forever; he won't let that happen again.

A relieved laugh escapes Stiles' mouth and Derek can't even follow Stiles' movements with his eyes; that's how fast the teen stands before him, wrapping his arms tightly around Derek's waist. The hug tells him everything Stiles doesn't say. _It has taken you long enough_ and _I'm glad I'm still here with you_ and _I missed you_.

Derek thinks the same, so he just hugs him back, mindful of all the things that are still standing between them but also listening to his own heart to never let Stiles go. This is the last chance they'll get and he better not fuck it up this time.

'I don't know why you're back but we still need to talk. Not here though, it's not safe.'

Stiles lets go of him and cocks his head as if he's trying to listen sharply to the world outside. Derek does it too, but the faint noises of the woods overshadow everything else. They might be safe here for another night after all.

'No, no, there is no zombie around for miles,' Stiles states after a whole minute of intense hearing and Derek can only raise his eyebrows sceptically. Stiles can't all of a sudden hear better than a werewolf. And be stronger than him. They have to draw the line somewhere.

'How do you know?' he asks suspiciously. Stiles' face turns thoughtful and he tips his index finger against his slightly stubbled chin. Scott had always made fun of Stiles for the uneven growth of his facial hair and the teen usually had made sure to be shaved but his last time had been a bit more than two days ago – only a few hours before Allison's death.

'I don't– I just– trust me on this, okay?'

And there it was. The one thing Derek just couldn't do. Not yet; maybe never. Stiles isn't the one he used to be and Derek should heed his own advice to take it slow. At least in that compartment.

'Trust. You.'

Stiles rolls his eyes and moans exasperated. There's also a little bit of anger crashing over Derek's fine tuned senses. But he can't help it. He swore to himself to never trust a killer again. He'd done his fare share of mistakes by doing so.

'Look, this is definitely not a dream,' Stiles tries to defend himself but Derek intervenes right there. 'How do you know?' Because all this still feels like a dream to him.

The universe just doesn't grant him a wish after it's been kicking him in the ass for the majority of his life. And it certainly wouldn't ignore Stiles' dearest wish to be together with his parents again, just to throw him back into the world of the living so Derek can seize his second chance.

Stiles gently stabs his finger in Derek's chest and answers accusingly, 'Because I hope _you_ don't dream of having a zombie pet to protect or play with, and _I_ was okay with dying. No more dreams for me.'

There are several things wrong with this statement but Derek can't even think properly before his mouth spills out the one thing that's been bothering him since Stiles' dying moments. 'How could you be?'

It reeks of desperation, accusation and way much more hurt than Derek had estimated. Stiles is visibly taken aback, blinking rapidly to process the words before his face turns hard; the hollow cheeks and dark circles suddenly standing out like a patch of thawing snow in an otherwise green and blooming garden.

' _Because I deserved it_ ,' he yells, eyes shining dangerously, hands balled to fists. Derek is not afraid of this display of fury, but he fears the train of thought Stiles is stuck with. It's time to let the past rest. Stiles is in dire need of a break.

He steps forward and puts his hands on the shaking shoulders of the teen, once again feeling the sharp outlines of his bones. Stiles had been so skinny when he died the day before but now that he was one of them he wouldn't be able to put on any weight again. Or would he? One could always count on Stiles to do the unthinkable, like coming back from the dead. But what will he eat?

He sighs and shakes his head to rid himself of thoughts he has no use for at the moment. It's more important to convince Stiles that the actions of the nogitsune were not Stiles' fault. He doesn't have to atone for crimes he hasn't even committed.

'It wasn't you.'

Stiles frees himself from Derek's grip and wanders around the small confines of the cabin, suddenly appearing like their little shelter is suffocating him. He wrings his hands and comes to a halt when he's once again standing in front of Derek. Like he needs to look him in the eye while saying whatever he needs to say so Derek will understand it.

'But I _remember_ doing it. I– I saw myself doing all those things. Hurting my friends, stabbing Scott, killing those deputies, hurting you. I even have a faint memory of watching Allison almost die by one of my Onis. And I haven't even shared a body with that thing at that time anymore. Might as well have been me, Derek.'

He gets it, he really does. Which doesn't mean that he agrees with it. But if Derek knows one thing, it's how guilt – no matter if the feeling is justified or not – can change you. How its weight can slow you and your life down to a point where you feel like you're walking backwards. But it also makes you live in the past, unable to accept or welcome the present, let alone the future.

Guilt kills you from the inside out. Derek has seen it in the mirror for years, just to watch Stiles wither away after the trickster spirit and his dad. He sometimes imagines that's also how he's been when his mother had died. However Stiles had managed to overcome it back then, he couldn't do it himself since the Outbreak.

Getting bitten by Scott had changed a lot. He was finally able to redeem himself by dying; Heaven had, in the end, cast a sentence over him that would set him free because Stiles himself didn't allow himself to be.

Coming back to life must have hit him hard after thinking it would be over and he'd be done with feeling like everything he touches ultimately dies. Derek's still here, so that should prove the teen wrong. Right?

'It wasn't you,' he repeats slowly, stubbornly. Stiles sighs defeated. 'You can't change my memories, Derek. And besides, it doesn't matter anymore. I killed and I died in return. As far as I'm concerned, I'm square with life.'

Derek doesn't trust the words one second. Stiles isn't someone who just forgets what he has done; he's too much like Derek in that matter. But given enough time and care, he'll be able to live with it. Maybe even understand that it might have been his body, but it wasn't his mind. Stiles wished death upon a lot of people in the past, but he could never hurt a fly.

Thinking about the two bodies resting in the earth – both killed by Stiles – he almost laughs out loud. Okay, so Stiles could hurt someone, but he always had a reason. Allison was about to turn, Scott had already been infected and they both were a danger to the group. Or, more importantly, to Derek. He would have done it too. Stiles just had been faster.

'Don't lie to me,' he whispers and Stiles smiles sadly. 'I've died. Isn't that penance enough?' he asks expectantly and Derek can't crush that hope no matter how much he wants to.

'And there we have the next problem,' he deflects to give Stiles some time to think about this some more before they talk about it again. He's a hundred percent sure that Stiles will bring up his own attempted suicide once they will come back to this topic and he's not yet ready for defending his selfish wish. They really are so much alike, it's scary sometimes.

'You mean the whole being dead thing? Yeah,' Stiles gratefully accepts the reprieve and looks down at his body instead. 'You're worried I'm gonna bite you.'

Derek huffs out a sarcastic laugh. 'Among other things.'

Stiles chuckles and hops onto the table again, casually swinging his legs in the air. 'I don't feel like I need to eat.' Derek doesn't ask for how long it'll stay like this. In fact, he doesn't do anything while Stiles rambles on about why he came back as a zombie and how much his body might change due to that.

Derek lets him throw around ideas and wild theories while he just stands there and watches the teen doing what he does best: figure it out. He can't even tell anymore how much he's missed this Stiles. Mostly because there is no one left to talk to, but also because he doesn't want to share this peaceful moment with anyone.

There will come a time when he needs to address the strength possessing Stiles' body, the possible super hearing, what Derek should feed Stiles, what they're gonna do with his new condition, how they both will stay safe – what will happen to them as a team, a couple.

He can't believe he's probably soon going to have a turned partner. Stiles won't say _no_ once Derek will be able to jump over his own shadow; even though their relationship will have a lot of annoying limitations. Stiles still wants to love him – has confessed so in his last hours –, being resurrected as one of them doesn't change anything.

There's only one thing he'd like to clarify because it kind of freaks him out. 'Just don't call yourself a zombie.'

Stiles smiles happily and it lights up the whole room, engulfing Derek in comfortable warmth that makes him feel safe for the first time since Stiles came back. They might just be able to pull this off. At least, he thinks, with Stiles at his side, he can do almost everything.

* * *

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on 'the bite is a gift':  
> The pack lost Kira and her family, as well as the twins during an attack from a horde and Derek took out his own cousin. In the present, Derek isn't alone anymore. Stiles has somehow come back to life, which is all kinds of weird and untrustworthy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geez. I'm so sorry. I'm actually thinking about doing smaller chapters, so I won't update every leapyear. Hope you have fun (ha) and that there aren't too many mistakes. Love ya all!

Things were going really good after the Whittemore/Mahealani incident – especially between Stiles and Derek. Not that Stiles suddenly felt the urge to talk again, not even to the beta, but Derek was finally back to acting like a second well-fitting skin or a warming blanket in a cold winter night and Stiles treasured every second of it.

Especially whenever they encountered death and foes, traps waiting for them around every corner.

They almost made it through the first month without any collateral damage. Stiles documented everything in his journal at night when Derek was on watch and he couldn't sleep yet.

He was currently modifying his list of cities, towns and villages that were not safe when his eyes fell on the sheet of paper on which he had written their supplies. How could he miss they were running dangerously low? He would have to show it to Scott, so the alpha could organize a supply hunt first thing in the morning.

On rare occasions they found an abandoned house before sunset but most of the nights Stiles was forced to fall asleep in his Jeep. Which was actually the most vulnerable of all cars. That's why Derek had taken a liking to do his watch duty on the Jeep's hood, guarding the camp and Stiles at once.

Stiles would never admit it loud – and didn't have to, since he wasn't speaking anyway – but it was so much easier drifting off to sleep while watching the werewolf's back mere inches away.

Scott and Isaac were snoring in Derek's car, together with Boyd and Erica while Jackson, Lydia and Allison had found a way to fit three people comfortably into the luxurious Porsche. Derek usually just slept on Stiles' hood or in his own trunk if the weather was too unpredictable.

That night it was a bit chilly but the sky was clear and stars illuminated every last corner. He couldn't see the moon from his position but he knew it had to be close to a full moon. All the werewolves were acting a bit weird. Like they were constantly on edge but at the same time trying to hide it from the non-supernatural part of the pack.

Lydia might not have been able to notice – the banshee inside of her keeping her preoccupied enough – but he and Allison weren't stupid. They both knew that no werewolf would hurt them; that they all could control their shifts by now but for some reason that conviction was not enough for the others.

Derek seemed to be the only one not worried by the full moon. Even with Scott being a true alpha, Derek still could overpower him and the others. Someone who survived two rogue betas on a full moon didn't get scared so easily.

So Stiles didn't care either. As long as no werewolf howled and gave away their hiding spot, he didn't mind a little edginess. He wasn't doing any better nowadays either, so who was he to judge?

Stiles could hear Derek cough as quietly as possible and leaned his head out of his non-existent window. Instead of saying something he just tapped on the steering wheel and nodded towards the empty seat next to him. Derek didn't even think about it, just jumped down from the hood and got into the car before Stiles could so much as blink.

He rummaged through his belongings to get Derek a second blanket and draped it lazily over the other, almost falling asleep while doing so. It had been a couple of long, exhausting days, weeks, and he hadn't had a good night's sleep since the beginning of the end.

His sleep-deprived mind bombarded him with thoughts of Derek and how different things were between them now. How much Derek had changed. How they as a pair had evolved into something Stiles couldn't quite name yet.

Either way, he was happy with Derek lying next to him in the small space of his Jeep, tucked away safely under the blanket, always on alert even with Stiles fumbling and constantly sighing due to frustration. He just couldn't find the right position to fall asleep in. It was starting to get on his nerves.

'Stop. Moving.' And as it seemed also on Derek's.

He grunted loudly and breathed deeply through his nose to find some inner peace. But only the image of Derek cocking his head this side and that as if he was trying hard to listen in on their surroundings calmed his restlessness to the point he could just fall asleep between thinking how much he enjoyed Derek's company and how the other had grown up since they met.

He sadly missed the warm smile Derek shot him when his own blanket dropped into his lap due to him constantly moving and Derek pulling it back to its rightful place. But he was dreaming about it; forgetting all the evil that had happened in the last weeks.

When he woke up a few hours of restless sleep later Derek was sound asleep next to him, chin resting on his chest, the blanket tightly wrapped around his shoulders. The clear night sky had turned into a grayish nightmare. Heavy clouds dragged rain across the country and a strong wind made it impossible to escape the onslaught. At times like these he really hated his windowless car.

Derek didn't seem to mind, too tired to wake from his slumber just because of some raindrops hitting him right in the face and sliding down his neck. Stiles pulled out a leather jacket of Derek's and draped it cautiously over the older's right side to stop the rain from drenching his clothes completely.

Stormy weather always meant an increased amount of Turned sightings and attacks. Their supply hunt would undoubtedly be hell.

A stray lock of wet hair fell into Derek's eyes and tickled his nose. Stiles watched Derek twitch in his sleep with a warm fuzzy feeling spreading through his chest and gently pushed it out of the way. With a happy sigh he restrained himself from climbing onto the werewolf and hugging him until the other woke up.

Derek seemed so at ease and relaxed for once; Stiles couldn't disturb his sweet slumber even if he had wanted to.

Before the Outbreak he had never dared to be this close and intimate with the werewolf; and these days there was just never a good time for it. So Stiles rolled with the flow and took gratefully whatever fate threw his way.

One of his fingers traced lightly the outlines of Derek's stubble and his heartbeat skyrocketed the moment the older wolf subconsciously leaned into his touch. Some part of him craved Stiles as much as the teen wanted Derek. He maybe wasn't able to show it during the day but a sleeping Derek never lied.

The first earnest smile since his father passed away found its way on his face and he sighed satisfied while he looked around the clearing and caught sight of Erica's wicked grin directed at him. She held up her thumb as if to silently congratulate him and laughed loudly when Stiles blushed and flailed so hard he woke Derek up.

She must have told Boyd at some point because the usually so stoic and calm werewolf kept shooting him amused glances that led to some seriously annoying giggling – even Jackson joined the blond girl occasionally, though Stiles wasn't sure if he actually knew anything or just did it for fun – and a very adorably confused Derek.

Stiles busied himself with going through their cars, hoping to find more stuff he could add to his list. But in the end he had to tell Scott they were running low on food and water. Not to mention gas.

Scott shot him an unhappy glare and rubbed tiredly over his face with his worn out sleeve. A gesture he only showed Stiles or Derek because it made clear how clueless Scott actually was. How the responsibility got too much to bear sometimes. He was just seventeen and didn't sign up to be the leader of a werewolf pack during the apocalypse.

Saving people was in Scott's blood but the more they had to abandon and leave behind – strangers or friends – the darker became the shadows under the alpha's eyes. Stiles laid his arm around his best friend's shoulders and hugged him tight to assure him of their assistance. The burden wasn't Scott's alone to bear.

'I really miss your voice, man.' Stiles smiled apologetically and shoved the list in Scott's hands to wait for commands. 'When are you going to talk again? Seriously, Stiles, it's like you're not even here.'

He had heard those complaints a million times already – coming from the whole pack, except for Derek – and answered each and every one with a shrug. It wasn't that he couldn't talk. Derek had told him once he sometimes whimpered in his sleep. It's that there was nothing left for him to say.

The few times he did feel like sharing his thoughts he wrote in his mother's journal instead.

'You shouldn't waste your breath with it, if not even Derek can get him to talk,' Erica bumped into the one-sided conversation and Stiles pointedly looked away from the girl, knowing full well what dirty thoughts were going through that pretty mind of hers.

'Fine, you still in though, right?' Scott asked him hopefully and Stiles nodded without knowing what exactly his friend was talking about. He probably would get the task to protect the not so supernatural beings of their pack again. For some reason Scott didn't like Stiles participating in supply hunts.

'We're taking him with us?' Jackson half yelled from the other side of the clearing, mindful of possible intruders listening in. 'He'll just be in the way.' Stiles flipped Jackson off and turned to their alpha to signal that he was not happy with the decision to stay behind but would do so for the sake of whoever.

Allison definitely didn't need any protection by him and his bat. She could shoot anyone between the eyes without even breaking a sweat. Not that he couldn't kill those things with his gun the same way, but it was too loud and their little camp would be overrun by Turned in no time. She was a perfect markswoman and Lydia was in the best hands.

He usually just took out those Allison left for him; so he wouldn't complain about not getting any. Stiles sometimes got the feeling Scott left him with the girls to punish him for not talking anymore. But who was he to deny a direct order from the pack leader?

'Stiles is coming with us. Jackson and Isaac, you stay here.'

Stiles' mouth opened on its own account, but no sound escaped it. Jackson on the other hand had a lot to complain about. 'Why do I and big puppy here have girl duty? We're more capable to defend them, I'm rather sure about that but–'

'Someone told me some time ago that it would be wiser to protect the camp with one or two werewolves,' Scott defended his decision with a stern voice and an even more impatient glance. His eyes were not yet flashing red but Stiles knew that one more attempt at talking back would lead to the almighty alpha-stare.

Jackson threw his hands up in the air and walked back to Lydia – who was cowering in the Porsche, looking like hell, covering her ears to stop the voices –, all the while muttering something along the lines of, 'Yeah, _someone_ , right. We all know who that must've been. This is so stupid.'

Stiles tried to ignore the words but still felt a chill creeping over his body when he realized that Derek had planted that idea into Scott's head. He probably had decided that he didn't want to leave Stiles alone, out of his sight and protection, anymore.

That was cute and crazy at the same time. Liberating and confining. He felt like being in chains, but unattached.

In the end all that mattered was that Stiles could join them on their hunt and actually do something productive to help the group. And it all was because Derek had put in a good word for him. Like he said, always rolling with the flow.

Maybe Derek had just been the only one being able to sniff out the oppressive feeling of uselessness whenever he had to stay behind to protect someone who could off a Walker single-handedly and had decided to give Stiles a chance to prove himself to the rest of the pack, including himself.

'I can trust you with the camp?' Scott asked matter-of-factly and Jackson nodded with a loud and not very dignified sigh. 'Yeah, puppy and I got it.'

'Where are we headed?' Erica once again butted into the conversation and pursed her lips when a fat raindrop landed in her eye. 'Fucking wonderful,' they heard Jackson complain at the sudden rain shower and Stiles watched him retreat into his mud sprinkled car to gently cradle Lydia in his arms.

Isaac watched the scene with mild interest before he jumped onto Derek's car to lie down flat on the roof. It was an unspoken rule that one werewolf had to stay outside the cars during rain storms to better hear any danger approaching. Stiles still felt the need to hand Isaac an umbrella. If only he had one.

He watched Scott quickly unfold a small map of the local area and showed Erica a place Boyd had seen when they drove past it the other day to reach the clearing they were currently staying in.

'It's not much but all we've got,' Scott apologized with a lopsided grin and Erica fondly rolled her eyes. 'There better be some chocolate,' she said and pushed her nail hard in Boyd's chest. 'I'd kill for some.'

'You already are,' Derek reminded her with a mischievous smile while he surprised the hell out of Stiles for various reasons. First of all he hadn't even known the other stood behind him the entire time. And secondly, had Derek just decided to be a mother hen and put Stiles' hood over his damp hair, sending all kinds of exciting signals through his body?

Of course none of the werewolves missed that. Even Isaac propped himself up on his elbows and shot him an interested look.

Stiles tried to play it cool by raising an eyebrow and concentrating on the map getting soaked by the rain. 'You're so obvious,' Erica rebuked him – them? – and ordered Boyd to plait her hair. She didn't want to give anyone a chance to grab her easily again. Last week she barely escaped the death grip of a Walker. It was only thanks to a higher force that the hand holding her fell off due to rotten flesh.

While her friend silently braided her hair Scott checked in on Allison and Lydia. When Stiles turned around expecting Derek to still stand right behind him, he found the other rummaging through his Jeep in search for something.

'Help me,' he ordered without even looking if Stiles was paying attention – okay, who was he trying to fool? Why wouldn't he? – and held out an empty water bottle. Stiles took it and placed it on his hood, opening it along the way. Derek didn't need to tell him what he intended to do. It was pretty obvious to him.

'It's not much,' Derek said in a hushed, defensive voice as if Stiles had chided him for his genius idea. He flashed the werewolf a proud smile and clapped Scott on the shoulder to show him how Derek wanted to use rain water for their supplies.

'Dude, awesome. Why didn't we think of that?' Scott scratched his stubbled chin and playfully pushed Stiles around. Stiles grinned and answered with an equally strong push himself before he pointed to Derek, then to his own temple and then his hands just flailed a lot but Scott perfectly understood.

'Yeah, I guess you're right. You still could have come up with it though.' Stiles rolled his eyes and walked up to Derek again to grab another bottle.

'What the heck did he just say?' Erica blinked a few times to underline her confusion. Scott laughed quietly and patted her paternally on the shoulder. 'Don't tell me you just understood that– that really poor example of ASL.'

Whatever Scott answered, Stiles didn't hear it because Derek chose that exact moment to turn around and look down into his eyes with such an intensity that he felt his cheeks burn up. 'Come to think of it, he's right,' Derek whispered so low that even Stiles had problems hearing him in the pouring rain.

'You're usually the clever one. Why didn't– _oh_ ,' he added dumbfounded the moment he correctly deciphered the sly grin dancing over Stiles' face. Derek squinted his eyes and leaned forward. Their noses were almost touching but the smile didn't disappear from his face. Derek mimicked it unconsciously when he mumbled, 'You've done it the entire time, haven't you?'

Stiles just shrugged nonchalantly, grabbed his bat and pocketed his hammer to get ready for the supply hunt – his father's gun always resting in his back pocket already. Better be safe than sorry.

And of course had he done the water saving all along. Where did Derek think they got most of their rations from? They haven't exactly found a lot of small lakes or stored water so far on their journey. Rain water was the only trustworthy thing available.

'You,' Derek started but Stiles just shook his head to end this particular conversation. He didn't want any thanks for something like that. They were all looking out for each other. The least he could do was gathering every drop of rain he could get.

'But,' Derek tried again, a bit hopelessly and perplexed, obviously wanting Stiles to get the recognition he maybe deserved. Stiles just put a finger on his lips and begged Derek with wide eyes to never tell a soul what he just found out.

The others all risked their lives day in day out for his; collecting water really wasn't something to be proud of.

'What else did you do that we missed out on?'

Stiles winked as an answer and shouldered his bat while stepping next to Boyd; waiting with the other quiet teenager for the rest of the supply hunters to arrive.

Five minutes later Stiles cursed himself for wanting to be part of a hunt in the pouring rain. His clothes clung uncomfortably to his skin and he couldn't see anything other than Erica's back right before him. All he could hear was rain falling down on them and Derek's muttered nonsense to signal him he was still following close behind.

Boyd was leading them to the place he had seen the other day without stopping once to make sure he got the right direction. They only froze up whenever one of the werewolves grabbed Stiles and pushed him down in some conveniently placed puddle or behind the next tree to make sure no Infected or Turned saw them.

Stiles looked as if he had rolled around in the mud when they reached the street with the small supermarket Scott and Boyd had been talking about. The doors were wide open which was never a good sign but they would try their luck anyway. They had to.

A brief glance among their little group showed him that in fact they all looked horrible. Erica had even some dirt in her perfectly braided hair. It made him feel slightly better about his own ruined outfit. He had really liked that shirt.

Maybe there were still some clothes left in this store. And socks. God, how he missed some nice and comfy socks.

They all needed new stuff but water and food always had priority. That could scarcely be found in abandoned houses because people usually packed that first. Clothes weren't all that important in an apocalypse.

Scott and Derek sniffed out the store from the entrance while Boyd and Erica stepped behind Stiles to guard him in their middle. Scott smashed his fist against the wooden doorframe and they all waited with wildly beating hearts for any Turned to appear because of the noise.

Several breaths later Scott visibly relaxed and nodded for the three werewolves to search the aisles on the left while he and Stiles would take the right side.

Derek looked like he'd rather eat a lemon but didn't argue about the group splitting up and just lead the other two to their destination. Stiles tried to breathe in his newfound freedom but just felt terribly void of any happy emotions. Derek's absence – even though they were merely two feet apart and only separated by almost empty shelves – left him feeling jittery and uneasy.

He couldn't shake off the feeling that something bad was going to happen. And Stiles was never wrong about that. Yet he didn't warn his best friend in fear of being told to stop accompanying them on hunts.

Scott checked the items on the shelves and packed some cans into his backpack while Stiles grabbed some dark colored sweatpants and shirts lying scattered across the floor. No socks though.

'Water,' came the quiet but ecstatic whisper from Erica and they could see a pale hand waggle some bottles through the air. Scott smiled proudly and urged Stiles forward.

They left behind useless stuff like flour or coffee powder but took with them a bottle of honey, a still closed box of mint chips and a jar of marmalade. Scott made a little happy noise when he found a can of fruit salad with cherries in them.

Stiles stuffed three cans of soup and vegetables into his bag. He wasn't exactly fond of mushrooms but packed them too. As long as it hadn't expired, he'd take what he could get. Right now, ignoring his growling stomach, he was pretty sure he'd even eat expired food. Desperate times required desperate measures.

'Hey man, can I talk to you for a sec?' Scott spoke in a hushed tone but Stiles knew very well that all werewolves would be able to listen in on them. Derek definitely already was.

Stiles shrugged while checking behind the counter for anything useful – maybe he could even find a new weapon. He desperately wanted some kind of sharp knife or machete. Something efficient and lethal. He didn't find anything there, except for money he had no use for.

Scott still looked at him expectantly, so Stiles just nodded and moved on to the next shelf. He could hear Scott's hesitant footsteps following him.

'Are you alright?' Stiles whipped his head around and simply stared at Scott as if he'd grown a second head. No one of them was _alright_ and Scott knew that better than anyone. He had lost his mother and girlfriend on the same day as Stiles had to listen to his father's death on the phone.

Since then he just couldn't bring himself to talk again, not even a simple thank you. He was a walking shadow of his former self and slowly descending into a well-known darkness, constantly tumbling in and out of a devastating depression.

He was pretty far away from being _alright_.

Stiles raised his eyebrows and shook his head at Scott's pretty stupid question. His friend sighed audibly and gently clapped on his shoulder. 'You know what I mean. Come on, don't leave me hanging here.'

Because he had never been able to withstand Scott's puppy eyes, he huffed out frustrated and gently shook off Scott's hand. He answered the question by returning it with an accusing finger pointed at Scott's chest.

'No, I'm not,' Scott replied honestly and sighed again, this time lost and defeated. 'I miss my mom.'

Scott's pureness didn't surprise Stiles anymore. Yet the truth of the words still hit him so hard he dropped a can of peas and flinched hard when the loud clang echoed in the empty store. 'I know you suffer from your loss too. Why won't you let us help you?'

Stiles crouched down to stuff a can into his backpack and tried to find a good enough answer for that but couldn't even face Scott's warm and pleading gaze. 'We're all worried about you.'

Stiles touched his neck and opened his mouth to imitate a scream. Everything to turn Scott's attention away from him. 'Yeah, we're also worried about Lydia but there's nothing I can do to help her. You on the other hand I can. Could. Look, Stiles, we all miss you. And we want to help you. Not just Derek. It's–'

Stiles didn't let Scott finish his nice speech about whatever he had wanted to say about Stiles and Derek and just walked away from his friend, biting his lip to not turn back and fall Scott around the neck.

He couldn't tell why he isolated himself so much. It had seemed right when the nogitsune possessed him and it still felt right afterwards. All he wanted was to never hurt any one of them. And to feel worthy of their trust and friendship again.

As long as he felt like a burden and a harbinger of death he wouldn't allow himself the safety and affection of the pack. He had survived his mother's loss, he could deal with the aftermath of his father's alone, too.

He'd come around eventually. Hopefully.

Scott followed him, radiating a slight fury at Stiles' passiveness but jumped in front of his friend as soon as he heard a distinct noise from the back of the store. A deep inhale told him what Stiles couldn't see from his position.

Derek was still lingering close by, listening to their one-sided conversation and packing useful supplies while Boyd and Erica had checked out the back. A surprised yell rang in their ears and Scott growled shortly in Stiles' direction before he shifted into his werewolf form and ran to them.

One look over his shoulder told Stiles that Derek circled him – also full-out shifted – like some kind of prey while his eyes darted back and forth between him and Scott's retreating form.

Stiles shouldered his backpack and gripped the handle of his bat tighter when a second yell – this time definitely Erica – echoed through the supermarket. 'Boyd,' they could hear her shouting concerned and Stiles' stomach dropped.

'Erica, get out of there! Now!'

Derek must have heard what had really happened in the back with his enhanced wolf hearing but Stiles had to wait for his friends to emerge again to know what was going on. When he saw Scott dragging Erica at her wrist – and totally against her will – to them, he immediately noticed the blood all over her muddy clothes.

Somewhere a group of Turned had managed to hide from them behind a door Boyd would have better left closed forever. 'We have to help him. Scott, please, please, I can't leave him. Derek,' she begged when Scott practically threw her into the other's arms to run back to the commotion even Stiles could hear now.

The thing about those things was that they weren't loud like zombies in movies and video games. They were silent killers, only gurgling and groaning when they were hunting their feast.

Stiles could hear flesh being ripped off with brute force and took a hesitant step forward, and then another one and before Derek could hold him back he was already running towards his best friend. 'Stiles, dammit,' he heard Derek curse behind him but reached the back without any interference.

He was ready to swing his bat, the squishy ripping of flesh and the sprouting of blood a constant reminder of the danger ahead, but what he saw when he rounded the corner wasn't what he had expected. He should've known better.

'Stiles, get out of here,' Scott shouted panicked while trying to fend off a small group of Turned, but Stiles could only concentrate on Boyd. He was lying on the ground in a pool of blood and skin and little pieces of organs. At least five different Walkers were feeding off him, slowly tearing the life out of the teen.

He distantly heard Erica screaming for Boyd and Derek trying to comfort her while simultaneously urging Stiles to come back, but all he could concentrate on was the small horde in front of him, killing one of his friends.

'Stiles, get back! I can't– We need to run. Come on!' Scott let go of the thing he had just killed – his hand coming out of the rotten head bloody and speckled with bits of brain matter, as well as pieces of skull – and pushed Stiles out of harm's way.

'No, Scott, we can't leave him,' Erica begged again, tears falling down her face, blazing pale trails through all the mud and blood on her smooth skin. Derek shot Stiles one last angered glance before he pulled the blond out of the store.

Scott ran around the aisles, collecting their stuff and followed Derek without realizing that Stiles was still rooted to the spot. He couldn't move a muscle, his eyes fixed on the blood slowly flowing out the backdoor towards his shoes.

The groaning got louder, feet shuffled in his direction and dirty, ashen hands were about to grab him when someone took his hand in their own and yanked him out of the store and along the street until they were hiding behind a big oak tree.

'Are you crazy?' Derek panted and Stiles just tiredly closed his eyes. He wasn't so sure anymore.

Together they waited a couple of minutes, only distantly hearing Erica's sobbing and pleading. The small assembly of Turned must've surprised them, attacking them both at the same time. Boyd had probably shielded Erica from the onslaught with his sturdy body, paying with his life for his heroism.

'Don't ever do that again,' Derek whispered helplessly and Stiles had to open his eyes at that. 'Don't you dare leave me.'

For a moment he didn't know how to respond to the confession hiding behind the frantic words and just hugged Derek tight to distract them both from his rabbiting heartbeat. He hoped the embrace reassured Derek that he would never even think of leaving the werewolf behind. Not willingly.

'Good. Let's go, they're following us.'

Stiles ran around between trees and bushes to keep up with Derek's inhuman pace, always turning his head around to see if there were still Walkers on their tail but everything seemed clear. Thank God they hadn't run into a bigger horde or else they all would be zombie food by now.

They caught up with Scott and Erica the moment they entered the clearing. Isaac nearly fell off the roof rack when he saw the blood soaked figures in front of him. Erica was a mumbling, crying mess, desperately clinging to Scott's shirt like her life depended on it.

Isaac tried to hug her but she pushed him away, falling down to the earth and crying her eyes out. 'Where's Boyd?' he shyly asked but no one dared to answer him. It was Lydia who finally cleared things up.

'He's dead, isn't he? I heard it, they were warning me. They said someone would die. I couldn't understand them properly, I'm sorry. They never stop these days. It's– They–' Jackson cut off her confused and disoriented rambling by gently guiding her into the Porsche again. When he was sure she was alright he jogged back to them, a stricken expression flickering over his face.

'What happened? Are we safe?'

Stiles didn't listen to Scott explaining everything, didn't check the perimeters to make sure they really wouldn't be found by those things. He just awkwardly climbed into his Jeep and stared at his dirty, trembling fingers still clutching the metal bat.

Killing them was easy. But watching one of his friends getting ripped apart by them wasn't something he wanted to get used to. He never wanted to see that again.

A single tear fell down his cheek before he swallowed down the bile rising in his throat at the mental image of a dying Boyd – he hadn't even screamed once while those things had eaten him, not wanting to draw more attention to his pack.

Stiles saw Derek walking up to him but shook his head to signal the other that he needed to be alone for a minute. He still wasn't sure what had happened back in the store. Why his muscles just seized up and he remained standing there, not even picking up his weapon to defend himself.

He didn't have a dying wish but something in him wanted to end it. To take the easy way out. If he was completely honest, he was a bit scared of that part.

Isaac's broken voice brought him back into the present but as soon as he understood the words he wished Derek would've never asked Stiles to come with him on the very first day.

'Guys, you should see this. I think Erica's severely hurt. Oh my God, she's bitten!'

* * *

Day 28  
Jan 18th

N°3 SANCTUARIES

**Month 1  
** ~~Beacon Hills~~ not safe (ORANGE ZONE)  
 ~~Stockton~~ not safe (ORANGE ZONE)  
 ~~Ripon~~ not safe  
 ~~Manteca~~ not safe (ORANGE ZONE; Malia)  
 ~~Salida~~ not safe (Boyd; Erica)

* * *

'Is it even infectious for werewolves?'  
'What do we do now?'  
'This can't be happening.'

'I told you, I'm fine. No fever, no infection, right?' Erica tried not for the first time to calm them down but the whole pack eyed her suspiciously – especially since Lydia got some of her banshee vibes again.

Stiles sat on a lodge in the center of the clearing and watched the dying flames flicker in front of his feet. His clothes were still clammy and clinging uncomfortably to his skin. The small fire hadn't helped at all but at least he wasn't chattering violently with his teeth anymore.

Jackson had ran around the camp for a while after Isaac's discovery of the bite, hissing things Stiles couldn't understand because his mind was trapped in a foggy darkness that lulled him into a false sense of safety. Nothing could reach him there. Not Boyd's horrible death, nor Erica's bite. Not even Scott or Derek.

For a wonderful, way too short time only Stiles and the dancing fire existed.

Jackson's voice had stopped sometime in the evening, completely vanishing out of Stiles' consciousness. Isaac's wrecked sobs had quieted down too.

Scott hadn't said a word since the beginning and Derek was arguing with Allison for a whole hour now. They had chained Erica to a large tree outside of Stiles' vision where she struggled with her restraints and the death penalty she would most likely receive.

None of them knew what a bite did to a werewolf. If it even had any effect on them because of their healing powers. And this wasn't something a stranger could tell them. Breaking it to them that there were zombies _and_ werewolves would probably be too much for anyone. There were enough Rogues running around these days. No need to turn all of them into werewolf hunters too.

'Guys, I'm good,' said Erica, a forced lightness in her voice. Stiles could hear panic betraying her confident words. She had stopped screaming and crying for Boyd a while ago but she was, just like him, still pretty shaken up by his death.

Allison stood in front of Derek – both of them shadows behind the bright fire – urging him to take this whole matter seriously. Just because Erica had been bitten by him first didn't mean werewolves were immune to this virus.

'I am taking it seriously. That's why I chained her up.'

'Yeah, thanks for that, Derek. But you can let me go again, I'm fine.' Erica's words fell on deaf ears and Stiles felt the sudden urge to clasp his hands over his ears to drown out any noises. He didn't move a muscle though, too exhausted by the events of the day.

Scott sighed loudly before he went over to Jackson's car and tried to talk to Lydia. Stiles could see her shaking her head, strands of her strawberry blond hair falling in her pale face. He didn't know what she said but it looked a lot like _s_ _omeone will die_ to him.

Allison stopped her argument in the middle of the sentence when Scott joined them, looking like he'd just lost Kira and his mom all over, rubbing tiredly over his eyes to stall some time.

'We're still in danger. I trust Lydia's instincts. She was right with Boyd, too.' Allison nodded with her lips pressed to a thin line while Derek rolled his eyes. He wouldn't let his former beta down so easily. Stiles admired his will to fight. Even envied it a little.

'We're not killing her. We don't know what happens to a bitten werewolf. I am not letting you touch her.'

Scott managed a small smile and clapped Derek on his shoulder. 'No one will harm her. Promise. We're waiting it out. If she doesn't turn, we're letting her go. Sorry, Erica. I can't put the group in any more danger.'

Stiles heard a relieved laugh from behind directed at their alpha. ''S okay,' she reassured him and Stiles breathed in the silence that followed. Scott sat down on the other side of the fire, poking it with a stick to not let it die so soon but otherwise as silent as Stiles.

Allison and Derek followed suit. They listened to the crackling while trying to ignore the sounds coming from Erica. Somewhere along the line Derek had managed to scoot closer to Stiles without him even realizing, placing the bat conveniently next to his sodden sneakers.

'Where's Isaac?' Allison asked the moment the last bit of sunlight vanished behind the thick lines of trees surrounding them. Scott immediately jumped up horrified, quietly calling out to the other werewolf.

'I'm here,' came the unhappy response from Derek's open trunk. Isaac was probably lying in it, watching Erica's every movement to be sure she was fine.

''S gonna be okay,' Stiles heard her whisper and hid his face in his hands when her words were void of the snarky confidence she usually emanated. She sounded wounded. Sick.

''M okay,' she repeated and growled aggressively when Scott approached her. 'I'm just going to see if the fever hit,' he calmed her down. Stiles held his breath until Scott spoke again. 'No fever. You still don't look too hot.'

'Right back at ya, McCall,' she gently snapped back. Scott huffed and his steps faltered for a brief moment. 'What is it?' Stiles heard Erica ask but Scott kept quiet.

Derek glanced back at the two and Stiles risked a peek through his fingers at the other. Irritation flickered across Derek's face and made Stiles curious enough to take his first look at Erica since they had gotten back.

Her eyes were glowing golden and her claws extended. Only the fangs were missing. While they all were watching her she shifted into her beta-form and back, all the while looking forlorn into Scott's face.

'What's wrong?' Scott turned back to Allison, Derek and him but didn't find an answer to his own unspoken question there. 'You're shifting,' he explained and Erica laughed painfully.

'I'm not,' she stated but they could all witness her turning into a werewolf again. 'She can't control it,' Derek emphasized distantly and Allison stood up to examine Erica's condition from close up.

'Like on the first moon,' she mused and jumped back when Erica tried to bite her hand. 'I'm sorry, sorry,' the blond apologized immediately but Allison just shook her head and took another step away from her.

A car door opened and Jackson stuck his head out of the Porsche, informing them that the voices grew louder and that Lydia was sure something bad would happen very soon.

Erica huffed out a laugh at Jackson lacking tact and roared softly. If she couldn't keep her voice under control she would become a danger to the group. There was a moving horde out there, still searching for them after they had killed Boyd. She would lead them directly to their camp.

'Sorry, it's– it just comes out. I'm not doing anything,' she insisted and before anyone could even react she howled loudly and broke the chains binding her to the tree. Derek practically threw himself between Stiles and Erica, already in his werewolf form, shielding him from the potential danger.

Stiles grabbed his bat but knew right away that he couldn't hurt Erica. No matter what happened, he wouldn't be able to swing it at her head. He really hoped she would get through the night without turning. Up until now they had hoped that at least werewolves were immune.

That's why Scott had begged him early on to receive the bite but Derek had thankfully held him back; had reminded him that it was too risky as long as no one knew how the virus affected them. Scott had argued that it was way more dangerous to let Stiles live on without it, but he had also somehow lost that discussion without Stiles ever feeling the need to intervene.

Besides, he didn't want the bite. He wanted to stay human until the end. Being possessed by a trickster spirit was supernatural experience enough. Humans might not be as strong or fast as werewolves but he liked that. He still had his mind and heart as his best assets. Stiles didn't want to be defined as anything else than human.

The offer from Peter had made him realize that. And it looked like being a werewolf wasn't a guarantee to make it until the end either.

Erica seemed totally out of it. She was sweating and spit gathered at the corners of her mouth. Most of the time she just stared at them, hungry and aggressive but there were moments when her gaze got clearer, her eyes turning human again. 'What's happening to me?'

Allison was already in position to shoot her and not even Scott or Isaac – who had joined them as soon as Erica freed herself – dared to tell her to stop. Stiles still hoped she wouldn't shoot. Maybe Erica was fighting the virus. Maybe she was even winning.

He wouldn't allow anyone to kill her before they could be sure she was lost to the pack.

Erica staggered towards them, shaking her head as if she was dizzy or had forgotten how to properly walk. The next second she pounced on Isaac and tried to claw his chest open while roaring loudly, possibly attracting every Turned in a ten mile radius. The night was gonna get hairy.

Scott and Derek threw her off Isaac in one swift synchronized motion while Allison's grip around her bow grew tighter. She never once let Erica out of her eyes, not even blinking when the female werewolf had tried to maim Isaac.

Erica showed some superior strength and speed when she escaped the men's grip and ran around them without getting caught once. She was on her way to Stiles and all he could do was blink and wait for the inevitable when Jackson jumped her from behind Stiles and saved him in the last second.

'Stilinski,' he heard Jackson almost spit his name while desperately trying to fight off a wild Erica.

Stiles still couldn't move. He had seen the look on Erica's face when she was running towards him. Her sole purpose had been to kill him. There was no warmth left in her eyes, just hunger and anger. The Erica he knew was gone. The virus had won. And she hadn't even died first.

He heard the telltale sound of an arrow flying through the air and his heart stopped beating for a dreadful second. But when he saw that Allison only shot her in the leg, he breathed in the chilly air that still smelled like burnt wood.

Erica wasn't impressed by the arrow in her limb, or the next one piercing her shoulder. She just kept blindly attacking everyone who crossed her way. The werewolves, except Jackson who patrolled the Porsche, had gathered around Stiles and Allison but they had their hands full with fending her off.

It seemed like an eternity passed, but couldn't have been more than a few minutes in reality, until fatigue and disorientation slowed her down. She was trying to keep up with her unusual pace but Scott could easily deflect her attacks. Not even her super speed seemed to be helpful to her now.

They had her pinned against the tree in a matter of seconds and Stiles closed his eyes in fear of what he would have to witness. Erica had to die, they all knew it. She wasn't even here anymore. Just a powerful vessel for one of those deadly things. He knew exactly how that felt.

Derek was holding his clawed fingers around her neck, stuck somewhere between protecting the pack and not giving up on Erica, while Isaac and Scott held her arms flat to the tree and Allison's arrowhead was aimed with perfectly steady fingers at the blond's left eye.

Feeling the bat in his hands, he realized how useless he had been in this entire fight. That was exactly why there still existed that part of him that wanted to stand still and get attacked. Then he wouldn't be a burden to Derek and the pack anymore.

Lydia could at least warn them about mortal danger. All he could do was swing his bat and walk behind the others like some newborn lost puppy. He was so done with this apocalypse.

Stiles wanted to turn away, maybe sit down in the Porsche next to Lydia when he heard rustling from outside the clearing. It didn't sound like a horde – they really wouldn't be able to handle one on top of a feral Erica – but it definitely wasn't just some animal. Her furious howls had led one of those things here. Maybe more.

They had to leave.

He finally convinced his legs to move and practically ran to Derek, yanking him away from Erica's throat without heeding the warning growl he got for that, frantically pointing in the direction the sound had come from, urging Derek without words to shut up and just listen.

Derek's eyes glowed blue and his whole body language changed when he understood what Stiles had found out. He probably was also a bit pissed that none of the wolves had heard the approaching danger first. Seemed like Stiles was good for something after all.

'How many?' Allison asked in a hushed whisper and Stiles could see Derek straining all his senses to give them a reassuring answer. 'Just one. At least for now.'

'We need to hurry,' Isaac warned Scott but couldn't keep the tremor out of his voice. He didn't want to hurt his friend, much less kill her.

'Stiles,' Scott hissed as quietly as he could to get his friend's attention. 'I need you to take care of it. Understood?'

Scott was giving him a second chance. At least that's how it felt like to Stiles. _Show us that we can still count on you. That you don't want to die. That you won't leave us. Me._

His only response was pushing Derek gently out of the way and holding his bat in front of his chest. He could do this. He couldn't run away anymore. He _had_ to do this. Just like he had to take out that baby on the highway.

He was ready to strike, Derek as backup right behind him, when that thing stumbled through the thick woods and into the clearing. Stiles barely suppressed a shocked outcry and staggered backwards, fingers losing the grip on his bat.

'Stiles, get back.' Derek's concerned voice seemed so far away, making it hard for Stiles to understand him. His gaze was fixed on the thing before them and he was sure he'd never forget that particular sight.

'Why is _he_ here?' Jackson asked more perplexed than shocked and his question seemed to distract Isaac, Allison and Scott long enough for Erica to break herself free once more.

Before one of them could react she pounced on Stiles, eliciting wounded cries from both Scott and Derek, but the surprisingly light weight was gone again before anything happened. He had no time to check for injuries. He felt pretty okay, just a bit odd.

A moment later he realized why. A gunshot rang through the night, surprising all of them. Derek helped Stiles get up on his feet – discreetly running his hands over Stiles' body – as they all watched in terror how the intruding body fell lifeless to the ground.

They all tensed up when Erica turned around, Stiles' gun still in her hands. She had stolen it from his pocket, with the clear intention to end Boyd's afterlife herself. But that meant there was still a small human part left in her, didn't it?

'Erica, put the gun down,' Allison gently urged the werewolf but the beta seemed to be trapped in her own little world. Her eyes were glazed over, somehow foggy and tears were running down her cheeks. She opened her mouth and only a strangled gurgle escaped.

She didn't let the gun fall to the ground but crawled over to Boyd's body, her viciousness towards the pack completely forgotten. Stiles wished she would attack them again, so he wouldn't have to deal with the fact that a turned Boyd had dragged his completely damaged body to their clearing.

He was pretty sure Boyd had followed Erica's howling. That some part of him had wanted to see her one last time. Maybe those creatures weren't completely inhuman. There was still a possibility that a part of them remained. It could be that one day someone really would find a cure because of this little detail.

Or maybe Boyd and Erica were just special enough to reach out to each other even after death.

'He shouldn't have been able to walk over here. They practically ripped him apart. Why is he here?' Jackson asked again, quieter and almost reverent, like he wanted to honor the whole ordeal Boyd had gone through.

Stiles thought he knew the answer and risked a glance towards Scott who was already looking at him expectantly. So he pointed to Erica – who was still kneeling next to Boyd, clutching his bloodstained, shredded hoodie with her free hand – and then wiggled his hands around in the air, including their little circle with his gestures.

Their faces told him they didn't get a word. Except for Derek who raised his eyebrows in confusion before he tentatively asked, 'Because of us? Out of habit? For Erica?' Stiles tipped against his nose and nodded eagerly. 'For Erica,' Derek repeated, his voice suddenly pouring sadness.

As if Derek's words had really reached her, she looked up to them, smiling like the girl they all loved so much before she put the gun to her temple and pulled the trigger.

* * *

Day 30  
Jan 20th

N°16 VIRUS EFFECT ON WEREWOLVES

→ WEREWOLVES ARE NOT IMMUNE!!! There goes our only hope  
→ can be bitten and get infected like everybody else / also turn after natural cause of death  
→ level of aggression rises infinitely / shifts get uncontrollable  
→ werewolves turn without dying before (Derek suspects the infection messes with the healing powers)  
→ loss of morality, feral behavior like on their first full moon  
→ no fever!  
→ more agile but less focused  
→ move faster (yeah) but easily lose their orientation

So a bite turns these sweet little wolves into even better killing machines. How are we still alive? Best way to eliminate an infected werewolf: another werewolf. Don't even try to interfere. Derek will be pissed. Big time.

\+ Derek also grumpily confessed that he can't smell me as good as he used to anymore. Creepy. But obviously something to worry about since the other werewolves admitted they can't smell anything other than decay and blood too. Derek got angry, demanded to know why no one bothered to tell (says the one who didn't say anything either until now). Apparently because they were embarrassed. Stupid werewolves & their pride. So their noses are numbed by the dying world. At least they can still hear better than us humble humans.  
\+ Also no time for proper burial. Horde hit from southeast. Attracted by Erica's gunshots.  
\+ Everyone is shocked. Two new empty seats in Derek's car. He thinks of abandoning it. Driving alone sucks, I should know.

Losses Day 29: Vernon Boyd [God... got ripped apart by Horde; shot by Erica]  
                        Erica Reyes [bitten; suicide]  
Remaining pack: Derek, Isaac, Allison, Scott, Lydia, Jackson, Stiles  
Infected: Danny Mahealani [Day 22; killed by Jackson]; The Whittemores [Day 22; killed by Jackson]  
Missing: Deputy Jordan Parrish, Agent Rafael McCall, Mrs Natalie Martin, Peter Hale, Alan Deaton, Kira Yukimura, Mrs Noshiko Yukimura, Ethan & Aiden

 

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on 'the bite is a gift':  
> During a little supply hunt, Boyd gave his life to save Erica, who had been bitten anyway. The virus ultimately won even against her werewolf powers and all hope seemed lost when a turned Boyd came back for her, resulting in Erica eliminating both threats herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A simple "I'm sorry" doesn't cut it anymore, I know. But editing this fic is probably the worst thing I've ever had to do in my life. Every time I read over the chapter I find something new that's wrong or needs rephrasing etc. I stopped now, so if you see any weird stuff or mistakes, please point them out to me, because I seriously don't want to go through this chapter once more. I can't promise anything, but I will do my best to try and update sooner next time.

'Why did you come back that night?'

His question takes Stiles by surprise and the teen opens his mouth clearly scandalized – he doesn't even care that the pen he's been cradling between his lips for the past hour, driving Derek slowly to insanity with it, falls to the ground. He blinks twice before he sits down and tiredly buries his head in his hands.

A moment of utter silence passes and for some reason Derek gets more nervous the longer it lasts. He probably has asked the question in a totally wrong way, giving Stiles signals he doesn't want the other to receive. When Stiles jumps up, full of energy and rage, he knows for sure he's fucked up again.

'Seriously, Derek? You really need to ask?' Stiles shouts, a broken look adorning his face.

Derek wants to explain his reason for doing so, but Stiles isn't done yet. He lets the other finish speaking, just like he's done ever since his Turning, because he can't bring himself to talk much with an undead person that could kill him at any moment.

'You would've let me go, isn't that right?' Derek doesn't say anything, doesn't want to lie, and his apathy is answer enough. The teen sighs defeated and slumps down in the chair next to him, pen and map completely forgotten.

They're residing just outside of Los Padres National Forest, at a hunter's cabin with a beautiful view of Lake Casitas. They haven't covered a lot of ground in the last one and a half weeks, but Derek is okay with that. Until he knows what to do with this new Stiles, he won't lead them anywhere near a Red Zone.

These last days have mostly been spent in silence and Derek can count the hours of sleep he got on one hand. He's more than just exhausted but for some reason he can't find rest with Stiles close by. A small, nagging part of him still isn't entirely convinced that he's not dreaming, that Stiles really is back – undead yet alive – or that his life isn't in danger.

He has tried to give Stiles the benefit of the doubt but it's hard putting his faith in someone who is half human and half killing machine. He ignores the irony of that.

He wishes he could also ignore the pained look on Stiles' face whenever he tries to tell Derek that nothing has changed. That he's still Stiles, the dorky, erratic kid that gets on his nerves on a daily basis, but all Derek can see is a threat. A dangerous thing just waiting for him to fall asleep so it can rip his heart out.

Seven days ago – they had just decided to leave Carpinteria – Stiles finally blew his top, yelling a lot of hurtful things in Derek's direction. Derek can't recall a moment when Stiles had stood up to him with such ferocity. He also can't remember a time when he had lost Stiles three times in the span of just a couple of days.

_'You should rest. You look like hell,' Stiles suggests and Derek's whole body seizes up at the tender words. His confidence from a few days ago is already gone, swept away by the steady ebb and flow of the ocean that drowns out every other noise in their cabin._

_He has tried to make this work but every time he concentrates on Stiles' heartbeat he realizes anew that it's gone. The sound of water crashing against cliffs and shores can only hold his attention for so long until he seeks out the calming beat he used to listen to day and night for the past two years._

_It has been his tether for the longest time, but now it's gone and Derek feels bereft of safety. It's as if he's swaying like a drunk person and the world is spinning out of control, making it hard to simply stand upright._

_It probably doesn't help that Stiles is grinning almost constantly. Being dead doesn't seem to faze him much, though Derek catches him sometimes placing his hand on his chest, right over where the heart should beat, a forlorn shimmer in his bright eyes._

_Derek has a lot of problems with Stiles acting like nothing has happened. No matter how hard he tries, he just can't forget how the teen died in his hands, how Stiles has found peace doing so._

_'I can't even remember the last time you smiled, grumpy cat,' Stiles teases him with an annoyingly big smile plastered on his face while simultaneously sorting out his backpack. There's a lot of stuff he doesn't need anymore._

_Watching Stiles unpack his water bottle and cans of food and stuffing it into Derek's duffel, causes a wave of nausea to wash over him. Stiles has been back for a couple of days but he already knows exactly what's useless to him now._

_He even has suggested to do the hunting. No other Turned would attack him. Derek instantly shook his head, deeming it too dangerous to leave Stiles alone out there. It wasn't the idea of what Stiles would be able to do to innocent animals or people, but what Rogues could do to him. If they see a Turned walking around, trying to catch some game, they'd kill him on the spot._

_Derek would never know what had happened._

_'I don't know why I should,' he replies belatedly and accepts a can of carrots without flinching. He's making progress with letting Stiles get close to him, though sometimes he still takes a cautious step back, causing Stiles to avert his gaze disappointedly._

_He extends a claw and opens the can slowly, preoccupying his mind and hands with a task other than focusing on Stiles. He hears a wistful sigh the moment he pops it open. The smell of chemically stored carrots hits his nose and he huffs tiredly. He's thankful for every scent he can catch these days, as artificial as it might be._

_'How about you're not alone, I'm still here, we haven't seen a Turned in days, I don't need food anymore, the sun shines brightly, we were finally able to bury our friends instead of leaving them just behind. I don't know Derek, but there is a lot to be thankful for.'_

_He fishes a carrot out of the can and chews it slowly, following Stiles' every step with his eyes. He tries to let the cheeriness of the teen reach his numb body, but it doesn't work. He's maybe too worn out for it. Or he just thinks that most of what Stiles has listed isn't really something to be happy about._

_He's not alone but they've lost their whole pack. Stiles is still here but he's also dead. They haven't seen a Turned in days – not counting Stiles of course – but the longer they don't encounter one, the more possible it gets that there are Runners patrolling the streets or that a horde is on its merry way. Stiles doesn't need food anymore but what will happen once he does? The sun shines brightly but... well, Derek can't say anything negative about that one. He lets the last argument die on his tongue and grabs another carrot._

_'We still should leave as soon as possible. Can't let a Runner find us.'_

_Stiles nods and Derek can see it plain as day. Before Stiles can even open his mouth he interrupts the stupid thoughts that surely are about to tumble out. 'I'm not letting you get in a ring with a Runner to show off your new abilities. This is not some game, Stiles.'_

_'I never said it was,' Stiles counters half pouting, half angry because of Derek's obvious lack of trust. 'But you need to let me test my boundaries. And I don't want to do it in a sparring match with you.'_

_He gulps down two carrots at once and sets the can aside. Derek isn't really hungry these days; he just eats to please Stiles. He decides not to react to the slightly sad smile on Stiles' face when he eyes the abandoned food._

_'There will come a time for you to use whatever you were given. That time is not now.' His tone doesn't leave any room for discussion but Stiles is as stubborn as ever. Some things can't even be changed by death._

_'You would let me rot in here because you don't know what to do with me. I can still be helpful.'_

_Derek shakes his head determinedly and regrets it in the same instant because Stiles crosses the room with a fire burning in is eyes that Derek knows all too well. He's about to hear things he can't want to deal with at this moment. He just wants to rest. The forced insomnia is taking its toll._

_'You can't keep me on a tight leash forever, Derek. I'm not your pet. Neither am I the biggest danger out there. I won't hurt you, how many times do I have to swear that to you? I know that you always stay awake in constant fear for your life. I'm not gonna take it, for heaven's sake._ I don't want it! _I'm still_ me _, Derek!'_

_Stiles walks the cabin up and down, animatedly throwing his hands around and casting him a look from time to time that's bordering dangerously close on resentment. It tightens Derek's chest uncomfortably and lets his heartbeat run wild._

_Stiles suddenly whips his head around and stares at Derek's chest confused. Whatever just happened, it has made him forget everything he had wanted to say. Instead he just lowers his gaze and goes back to his almost empty backpack._

_'I can hear it, you know. Your heart. It's going crazy. You're afraid of me and that won't change, not matter what I do,' he whispers with a raspy voice and Derek can't even process the words fast enough to get up and stand in Stiles' way._

_The teen can hear Derek's heartbeat while he, a_ werewolf _, can't make out a single thing in Stiles' chest anymore? It's all kinds of unfair. But Stiles got it wrong. His heart hasn't sped up in fear of him, it doesn't do that anymore. No, Derek is afraid of_ losing _Stiles._

_And that's exactly what he's doing right now._

_Stiles is out the door in seconds, letting in the awfully bright sunlight and the chipper sounds of birds enjoying their life. This time he moves, faster than he expected but still too slow to catch up with Stiles._

_'You should rest. You look like hell,' echoes the gentle reminder in the woods surrounding Derek and for a hopeful moment he thinks he's caught Stiles' trail, but no matter how long and fast he runs, he can't catch up with the teen. Stiles is gone._

_When Derek returns to the cabin hours later he finds it empty, thankfully void of any intruders. He closes the door, barricades it with shaking fingers and crawls under the table, hugging his legs tight, feeling more lost and lonely than ever._

_Even though Stiles is gone, sleep eludes him. He should've known better._

_I'm not going to take your life. I don't want it._ That's what Stiles said before he ran away. The stinging pain of betrayal still hurts Derek whenever he least expects it. _I don't want it._ He can't even tell why these words bother him so much.

A tiny, devious voice sings _cause you're not worth it_ while a strong and confident one – the wolf – tries to talk him into finally letting go of his mistrust and accept Stiles for what he is. Like the teen has said so many times that they both have lost count: nothing has changed between them. Stiles is still Stiles.

Just for how long?

He should really stop thinking like that or Stiles won't find his way back to him the next time he decides that leaving is a better option than staying with someone who's afraid of his powers.

'Derek, seriously, it's not even funny anymore. I'm starting to get the feeling you don't want me around,' Stiles accuses him in a light tone; yet his words are so heavy with defeat that Derek can feel it vibrate through his body.

'It's not that. You know it's not.' He rubs his stinging eyes and sits down in the comfy armchair by the window. All he wants to do is sleep to quiet down the chaos in his head. He's sure he'll be able to think properly once he's had a good night's rest.

He's been going on without any for almost two weeks now and it seriously messed up his mind. He can't even begin to imagine how Stiles must have felt – much less how he survived it – when he was possessed.

Derek closes his eyes just for a second but when he opens them Stiles is sitting on the ground in front of his feet, resting his back against them, and the sun has moved on. He barely manages to not flinch at the sudden shock of having Stiles sitting so close to him.

It only takes a second for the trapped feeling to vanish and he's proud of himself that he doesn't check his body for any bite marks. He's on his way to trust Stiles. It's just a horribly long and winding way to go.

He's acting as if he has all the time in the world, slowly creeping around in the trees adorning those paths when in reality it all could be over at any second. There's no telling if or rather when Stiles will completely turn into one of them.

Derek is sure that without a cure that's the only possible finish line, no matter which way they take to get there. And so far, Stiles is the one who could help save humanity. He's not immune but he is _something_.

'I get it,' Stiles murmurs loud enough for Derek to understand, 'You can't trust me. You shouldn't.' Two years ago he hasn't trusted Stiles once and the boy still saved his life over and over again, risking his own while doing so. Derek didn't understand it back then; he does now.

No matter how dire the situation, Stiles will always put himself in harm's way if it means Derek will be safe. Damn the consequences. Not because he trusts Derek to do the same. Not because he loves him. It's because Derek's life is worth saving.

He follows some long lost urge and runs his hand through Stiles' freshly washed hair, combing the curly patches with his fingers until they're smooth again. Stiles can't keep still for a second, his legs twitching or moving in a rhythm Derek can't hear, but he's glad to see the teen's enjoying this rare treatment without waiting for the other shoe to drop.

'You're barely sleeping and when you wake up it's always startled and on the verge of a panic attack. You feel like watching my every step is something you have to do. But it makes me feel like I shouldn't be here with you. Like I already am what you fear I might become one day.'

He doesn't stop caressing Stiles' hair. Instead he inhales deeply and smiles when the scent of the salty lake and faint traces of soap invade his senses. For a dead guy Stiles always makes sure he's cleaned up.

Derek had huffed at him when Stiles had shown up all wet two days ago, fresh clothes clinging to his skinny frame, claiming he should always look decent so people won't mistake him for something he is not. That kid really is so much smarter than anyone has ever given him credit for.

_Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I have to look like it._

Derek had only reminded him of never wandering too far into deep water because Turned can't swim. They just sink down to the ground and never resurface again. And Derek really isn't in the mood to dive after him every time Stiles feels extremely stupid.

'But you need to believe me when I say I'd never hurt you. I won't bite you.' Derek can feel the change in the air and hears the words Stiles will say before the teen even opens his mouth. He's gently pushing him down by the shoulders the very instant he whispers, 'I'll stay away from you if that's what you need.'

'Don't go,' is all Derek answers and Stiles hesitates for a few seconds before he lets Derek's hands guide him back into his former position, relief surely ghosting over his face. He can hear Stiles scoff and watches the teen crane his neck backwards so he can look Derek directly in the eyes.

'I won't leave again. If that's what you wish.'

For a moment Derek is rendered speechless. In the back of his mind he knows that whatever he says now will decide over their future. One wrong word and Stiles will be gone; this time for real. Deep down he can feel the only possible answer bubbling up, the wolf inside waiting jittery for Derek to let it out; willing him to serenade what it knows is right.

_For three days he's not moving from his spot under the table, barely sleeping and not eating at all. Without Stiles by his side there is no sense in getting up and keep on fighting, living. He's been an idiot, letting the teen go so easily. Even though he has every right to be suspicious of the other's actions._

_Yet in the end, all he can think about is how stupid he's been, how he should get up and search for Stiles. It can't be that hard finding him but then he remembers that Stiles no longer leaves a trail for him to sniff out. The realization hits him hard every time._

_The only reason why he's still in this cabin is the childish hope that Stiles will come back. But the more he watches the sun chase away the moon and vice versa he understands that he's alone in this now. Stiles won't return to him – he's had enough chances by now to barge in through the door like nothing ever happened, carrying a dead deer over his shoulder and announcing in that snarky voice of his: Ready your breakfast and eat hearty... for tonight, we dine in hell!_

_He misses the dorky movie references almost as much as he misses Stiles. He had just gotten back the old one; finally, after almost two years and had been dumb enough to let him vanish out of his life once more._

_It takes him a lot of convincing to get up and leave the cabin behind. The beast inside is roaring, howling in pain and grief because of the new direction their life is headed towards. Every mile he's ready to turn around but stops himself time and time again, forcing himself to let go. He can't help Stiles anymore._

_He has also failed the sheriff._

_With his hesitant walking he only manages his way to the next lake and finds a beautiful looking lodge, decorated with stag antlers and stuffed animals like owls or squirrels. He can live with that. But the void that has taken hold over his heart the moment Stiles had left won't disappear, no matter how fancy his new shelter might be._

_He misses Stiles' voice, making fun of all the hunting trophies and telling Derek to stop moping. While the moon rises again, and the faint noises of a few stray Walkers making their way towards him warn him to barricade the door, he thinks for the first time since this whole ordeal has begun that he misses Stiles more than he fears him._

_He doesn't get a few hours of sleep, but he dozes off once in a while, watching the half moon illuminating the bones on the walls, making them almost seem alive._

_When the sky turns red and the shadows surrounding him recede into the darkness, he hears a knock on the door. Blinking stupidly at the wooden surface he decides to hide under the blanket rather than see if there's actually someone seeking help or if it's just another Walker wanting to eat him._

_He's probably started to hallucinate because of the insomnia. But even if there is a living person out there – he doesn't even have the energy left to try and listen to the telltale sign of a heartbeat – he doesn't want to let anyone in._

_He_ never _wants to let anyone in again. He's done with that. They've all left him._

_'I don't want to bash the door in, so open up, sourwolf.'_

_Derek's on his feet in record time, stumbling over his own backpack on the way to the door and stops the moment he's about to move away the sideboard. Before he opens up, he needs to know if it's really Stiles out there and should it be, if he should punish the teen a little while longer for leaving him alone._

_Who is he kidding? His hands are already pushing the furniture away, leaving him no choice but to open the door. Sometimes he hates how his body betrays him in the most crucial moments._

_'What are you doing here?' he asks curtly, not wanting Stiles to get off the hook that easily._

_The teen just beams at him, completely ignoring his question. He has something to say, Derek can see it in the way he tries to rule in his excitement. It's infectious._

_'Derek, Derek, you won't believe,' he blurts out and makes a little bow before he jumps up and gestures at his body. 'I'm a Runner.'_

_Derek hears the words, feels his heart sink but at the same time beat faster in relief, now that it's revealed that Stiles isn't a Walker. But he's not done with scolding the other for making him feel like the loneliest person in the world. For abandoning him. Even though he has abandoned Stiles long before that._

_'How did you find me?' At that, Stiles stops moving and his face gets serious for a split second before he rolls his eyes fondly. Every inch of his body is screaming_ touch Derek _, he can see it in the aborted movement of Stiles' fingers, but he somehow manages to keep his distance._

_Derek wishes Stiles would throw caution in the wind and just do it because he doesn't want to be the one making the first move. But the teen is probably equally stubborn, waiting for Derek to give him an apology hug._

_So he just steps aside and makes way for Stiles to come into the cabin. After he's barricaded the door again, he turns around and watches Stiles pilfer through all the drawers. When he's satisfied with his looting he launches himself on the couch and scrutinizes Derek's every move._

_He suddenly understands how bothering that can be._

_'As if I'd ever let you go. Derek, come on, I need you. You're– we're–_ us _. I'd never leave you, let alone in an apocalypse. You never left me either.' Derek really likes how simple things with Stiles are. It makes everything so easy and comfortable._

_Derek has been the only one standing in his way. He knows that now. All he has to do is act like it too. The wolf has begged him to believe in Stiles from the get-go, blindly trusting in the bond of mates, but for some reason Derek rather listened to his head than his heart._

_'I did a few days ago,' he apologizes but Stiles won't have any of it. That's not the one he wants to hear. 'No, that was because I am super fast. Derek, I swear, I can outrun you any day now. That's why you couldn't catch up to me. Told you, I'm a Runner.'_

_Stiles sounds so proud that Derek can overlook the fact that being a Runner still means he's dead and takes a seat next to Stiles while playfully throwing the teen's feet off the table._

_'So, you're the most dangerous of all three types,' he remarks in a mocking tone but Stiles doesn't miss the severity of the situation. 'Yeah,' he whispers kind of sadly, just to bounce back to his usual self and flail with his hands while talking again._

_'But at least you don't have to worry about me running away with a horde or rotting to my death-death while resting against a tree, waiting for someone to take pity on me, completely alone.'_

_Derek can't help it, he just has to huff out a laugh that soon turns into something that almost makes him cry tears of joy and hug Stiles so hard he's about to break some ribs. 'I've missed you.'_

_Stiles giggles into his mud covered shirt while clinging onto Derek as if letting him go would mean the end of the world. Again. 'Missed you too.'_

'Don't go,' he repeats and Stiles hums approvingly. 'Promise.'

Derek is quite certain now that he won't use Stiles' condition as another excuse to distance himself from the teen. He has learned his lesson. The universe definitely won't give him a third or fourth – he has stopped counting – chance to make it right.

'So, care to explain how you found out you're a Runner?'

Stiles snorts and gently bats at the fingers still running through his damp hair. 'Well, the inhuman speed was a dead giveaway.'

* * *

Day 96  
Mar 26th

N°49 NEVER RUN OUT OF GAS IN THE MIDDLE OF BUTTFUCK NOWHERE

Losses today: Derek's soccer mom car [out of gas]  
                      Stiles' Jeep [engine failure; Go home to mom again, baby]  
                      Scott's poor imitation of a motorbike [too loud]  
                      Jackson's flashy Porsche [too small for all of us; Jackson was super pissed]

Remaining pack: Scotty, Miguel, the Hunter and the Banshee, Blondie McDouche, scarf!boy (SERIOUSLY?), the mute guy  
  
Infected: Agent Rafael McCall [First Runner; Scott took him out]  
              Mrs Natalie Martin [presumed dead; McCall had her necklace with him]  
  
Missing: Peter Hale, Deputy Jordan Parrish, Alan Deaton, Kira Yukimura, Noshiko Yukimura, Aiden & Ethan

* * *

According to Stiles' journal it's the last week of July and the sun shines mercilessly down on their backs, trying to win a contest with Derek's werewolf skin. He has a nice tan by the evening but it's gone again every time he wakes up in the morning.

Sleeping is practically the only thing he does these days; his body taking violently what Derek has refused to give it in the last few weeks. He finally feels clear in the head – still totally exhausted and it seems like no amount of slumber will ever make that go away, but it's a start.

He can rest deeply with Stiles sleeping right next to him. Or at least he assumes Stiles does it too. The moment his head hits the pillow he's out cold. When he opens his eyes again it's because the sun blinds him and Stiles is already up.

Most of the days he has prepared Derek some kind of meager breakfast, always with a bashful smile on the blueish lips, but today he can smell scrambled eggs and meat. He's out of bed faster than Stiles can wish him a good morning. 'You have eggs and you don't tell me.'

Stiles blinks owlishly and breaks out in a small laughing fit, nudging the full plate in Derek's direction. 'Powdered eggs,' he corrects him and Derek is taken aback for a short moment. He hasn't even smelled the difference between real and artificial ones. His nose really is letting him down and it worries him.

But there are scrambled eggs and parts of cooked meat Derek assumes have once been a rabbit, so he doesn't really care. He almost inhales the breakfast, chewing contently on the slightly overcooked chunks of meat and asking where Stiles has found the animal in the first place.

'Thanks for pointing out, once again, that I'm not the best hunter out there,' he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm but a tender smile still plastered on his face. 'It was hard,' he admits after a pause. 'They all run away from me.'

 _That's because you're one of the deadliest things out there_ , he doesn't say but Stiles still hears the words. Derek can't believe how proud they make the teen. One shouldn't be so happy about being a Runner. 'I tried a trap, like you taught Lydia and me in the beginning.'

It's Derek's turn to feel a wave of pride wash over him. For one, it's good to hear that Stiles' memories are still intact and that he even remembers Derek's lessons about how to lure small animals into traps. Stiles hasn't exactly been very eager to learn all that back then, always finding a more interesting distraction and testing Derek's patience to its very limits.

And secondly, it's soothing to know Stiles can survive on his own if he has to. Not that he'll willingly let the other go again, but they can't predict the future. Derek's life could be over every day.

It's also kind of cute to imagine Stiles running around in the woods, trying to catch some small squirrels and rabbits to make Derek breakfast.

Judging by the food on his plate Stiles has succeeded one way or another. 'So I set one up at a really good spot but they just wouldn't go anywhere near it,' he pouts and Derek hides the smile creeping over his face.

'In the end I just chased them. I thought about jumping them – I could have but it felt so animalistic. I– I was afraid that it might bring out the other side in me,' he confesses, voice shaking but Derek decides to let the moment pass without addressing the matter.

They're both concerned that the first kill will turn Stiles completely. Like he is some kind of lame vampire who only becomes a real one after the first time. But Stiles seems to have himself under control, so Derek forces himself to not worry too much. The teen will come to him when something changes. Derek has made him promise that too.

'So,' he shouts and Derek's fork falls on his plate with a loud clank, surprising both of them. 'Sorry. So, I just lured them to the trap and here we are.'

He resumes eating, slower this time to honor everything Stiles has done to serve him this plate. 'I think you need to give me another lesson on skinning things though. I'm sure I've made dozen mistakes and ruined a lot of it. I even had to catch a second one.'

Stiles' head plops down on the table and Derek pats his shoulder sympathetically. 'Lydia has always beaten you there,' he remembers the strawberry blond girl and how she even looked graceful while ripping the skin off an animal.

'Allison gave her private lessons,' Stiles defends himself and lifts his head to show Derek how unfair he thinks that has been. 'She never did with me.'

A teasing laugh escapes Derek's mouth and he pinches Stiles in the slightly cold cheek. 'That was only because you never paid attention. And that's also why you were the worst hunter in our group.'

Stiles rolls his eyes, but they both know that these are fond memories they would give everything for to become reality once again. They might have constantly been on the run, but at least the pack had still been together.

When Derek digs into his food once more he catches Stiles staring at his plate, completely lost in thought, a longing look on his face. He probably thinks about the whole issue with eating and feasting.

'You want something?' he asks, all light-heartedness gone. This is a serious matter and they can't dance around it forever. Their lives depend on it.

'No. I don't know,' Stiles sighs sadly. Derek sets the fork down again to look him in the eyes. 'Do you have to eat?'

Stiles doesn't miss the unintentionally harsh tone or the true meaning behind the question. He eyes the eggs warily before he deflects Derek's words with his usual defensive behavior.

'Nah, I'm good,' he drawls and winks at Derek. He's willing to let it slide this time but sooner or later Stiles will have to feast on something.

'You sure?' he wants to know before he picks up his fork again. He doesn't want to feel bad for eating in front of Stiles, so he needs to be certain the teen won't suddenly jump him to take a bite of his own or steal his food with his grabby fingers like he used to before the Outbreak.

Stiles smiles reassuringly and nods way too casually. 'Yep,' he chirps and scoots a bit closer to him. 'Besides, I'm still dreading my first time taking a shit as a–' 'Alright, no food for Stiles.'

They both laugh, Stiles a bit too loud – like he's still unsure how to talk with him about these issues. They have to work on a lot of stuff but for now Derek is happy with the way things are.

Two hours later they're sitting at the lake, doing their laundry while enjoying the sunny day and talking about old times when the whole pack had still been around. Well, at least the original pack because they had lost Kira and the twins early on.

It's nice sharing memories of them. Derek always assumed it would hurt more. Thinking about them – especially _his_ first own pack – still burns like an open wound that refuses to heal but the pain fades over time. It's more like a constant, dull ache Derek can live with, instead of the sinking feeling he'll never be able to laugh again.

Derek is knee deep in the water, scrubbing at a dirty patch on his tank top while Stiles rubs microscopically small pieces of soap on their clothes. Derek spots the Batman boxers in between the dark pile of their ridiculously pitiful amount of garments.

Maybe they can search for new stuff in Los Angeles. It's dangerous and he hasn't been in a Red Zone in forever but this time he would have a Runner at his side. Stiles' weird new skills would totally come in handy. It's really worrisome how equal they are by now – ability-wise.

Or rather, how skilled Stiles has become and how weak Derek's senses have gotten since the apocalypse. It's not even funny anymore. Watching the dirt disappear from the tank, he realizes how superior he's always felt because of being born a werewolf.

The apocalypse has changed more than just his way of thinking, it would seem. Stiles would call it irony and laugh until he wouldn't have any breath left, so Derek keeps his mouth shut and aggressively rubs at the clean spot until Stiles' voice gently guides him back to reality.

'Easy there, tiger. It's the last one you have,' he reminds him with a playful wink and continues his mission while Derek stands in the lake, breathing heavily, recognizing relieved that Stiles still is able to anchor him.

The missing heartbeat he has held onto for so long may be gone, but Stiles has found other ways to get through to Derek – a calming touch here, a soft calling of his name there. It's everything he has done for the teen before too, while Stiles can now listen in on Derek's heart to ground himself.

It's a role reversal Derek can get used to.

'We should check out Santa Monica for new clothes. I'm kinda sick walking around in black,' Stiles suggests and complains at the same time and Derek just throws his tank top in the teen's face. 'As if I'm gonna let you run free in red,' he counters, well aware of Stiles' favorite choice of color. 'We stick to the plan. Only inconspicuous attire.'

Stiles imitates him soundlessly, wringing out the drenched tank top to put it on the clean pile. He then gets up to strip out of his dark hoodie. It's the first time Derek can see how skinny Stiles has gotten. His pale, with black veins interspersed skin is wrapped tightly around his ribs and it hurts just to look at his friend.

What really surprises him though are the muscles Stiles has gotten since the Outbreak. His arms are well defined, the biceps rivaling Derek's not in size but intensity. Swinging a bat to violently smash someone's brains in has been a good workout for Stiles.

'Like what you see?'

Derek automatically raises his eyebrows and bends down to wash the hoodie in the warm water while trying to hide the blush creeping up his neck. 'You're too thin,' he comments as nonchalantly as he can, but Stiles sees right through him.

Thankfully he doesn't call Derek out on it. 'Can't change that anymore. But hey, seriously, I mean it. Santa Monica. We should get some practice before we barge into LA. And I really want a new hoodie. Maybe we find a brown or blue one.'

At least he doesn't try to convince Derek of a red one anymore. He knows how much Stiles misses his own clothes and especially all those shirts and hoodies that attracted too much attention. After the first few weeks Scott had made the decision to abandon all colorful stuff. Since then they've walked around mostly wearing black or dark gray, sometimes earthy colors to better blend into their surroundings.

Not everyone had been happy with that decision, but after a while they respected the order of their alpha. Derek just mourns the death of his bright blue shirt. He had really come to love it – especially because it had been a gift from Stiles at the end of the summer break during which they had desperately tried to find Boyd and Erica.

He also misses the shirt the sheriff gave him after the bomb explosion at the station. It had been one of Stiles' – he hadn't asked why the sheriff kept his son's clothes in his office; he could very well imagine the reason for it – and Derek still remembers how putting it on led to the discovery that Stiles' body had gotten bigger, more well defined.

Stiles had been on his way to become a man. And now he will stay a teenager for the rest of his life.

'Though I'd love me some red,' Stiles murmurs almost low enough even for Derek when a thought hits him. 'Keep on washing, I'll be right back,' he commands and vanishes into the cabin, smiling when he hears Stiles groan loudly about being ordered around.

He searches his backpack before he finds what he wants to show Stiles in his duffel. It's his all time favorite sweater but Stiles will most likely love it for other reasons. First of all he constantly complains about being cold ever since the nogitsune left his body.

Another thing he and his cousin shared, which made it easier for Derek to kill her with an ice pick. He has never really had the chance to warm up to Malia anyway. Pretty ironic, isn't it?

He also thinks Stiles will love it for the same reason Derek does. The thumbholes. And because it's Derek's. Sometimes it's so easy to satisfy the teen.

'You can wear that at night, if you want to,' he announces and drops the sweater on Stiles' head before he can turn around. 'Dude, where have you been hiding that?' He can see the happiness spread over Stiles' face the moment he slips into it and stares excitedly at his thumbs in the holes. 'You've never worn it. I thought it was lost.'

Derek shrugs and goes back into the lake, content to watch Stiles practically jump around the shore, resuming his washing duty. 'It even still smells like you.' Stiles celebrates that with a deep breath, inhaling all the scents Derek can't make out anymore.

'So that's why your heartbeat freaked out in there,' Stiles giggles and Derek feels two arms wrap themselves around his waist. 'Thank you,' he hears the serious whisper and stops his work to lay his own hands over Stiles'.

When Stiles freezes a couple of minutes later, still pressed tightly against his back, Derek instinctively knows they're not alone anymore. It can't be a horde, he is still able to hear that.

A Crawler wouldn't get Stiles to react like this since they're pretty harmless. Derek has eliminated the four that were hiding in the woods himself the night he came here. So they're either dealing with a group of survivors, a lonesome Walker or another Runner.

He's not overly fond of either of these possibilities.

'How many?' he hears himself ask in a hushed tone and Stiles steps next to him. 'Give me a second,' he begs and closes his eyes, lifting his head a wee bit. He looks like he tries to sniff them out but his nose isn't moving, so Derek guesses he listens for something.

Just to humor himself he pricks up his ears, but all he can hear are birds fluttering with their wings in fear and a stag running around frantically, dispersing fallen leaves under its hooves. It's coming their way, avoiding the lake on their side, so whatever is on its tail will cross their path too.

Not other survivors then. They wouldn't cause the birds to fly away too. He sighs relieved because humans are so hard to deal with lately. And once they see that Stiles is one of the enemies, they'll kill him and Derek without remorse.

He never thought there'd come a day when he'd prefer a fight with a Turned over encountering humans.

Derek keeps on watching Stiles, who listens concentrated to the sounds around them. Things, hints only he can make out. Derek imagines that this is the expression the teen had been wearing in the past when he was on the brink of figuring something out.

He looks so smart and strong, it's breathtaking. When Stiles opens his eyes again, they shine triumphantly and Derek can see the joy sparkling in them. 'A Runner,' he whisper back almost shyly, the happiness never once leaving his face. He knows what Stiles is thinking. It's time for Derek to unleash him.

'You wanna take it out?' Stiles beams at him and falls around his neck, pressing his now forever shaved chin against Derek's stubble. 'Oh God, yes.' Derek smiles to fight against the fear welling up inside his chest. He's sure that Stiles – being a Runner himself – will be able to handle it somehow but it still makes him nervous. Stiles doesn't heal anymore.

'Wanna join me?'

At moments like this, Derek can't understand why he deserves Stiles at all, but he's so glad he somehow does.

So together they run, Derek ready to shift and following Stiles' lead through the thick woods, their feet barely touching the dry earth while gracefully avoiding broken branches or stumps. They're as deadly as the Runner. He wonders if Stiles will come up with a name for just the two of them now, too.

They close in on it rapidly and soon Derek too can hear its erratic footsteps. It does bother him that he needs to be in close proximity to be able to distinguish its sounds from others but he guesses from now on it'll be Stiles' job to keep track of these things. He'll have to find another way to be helpful.

Stiles flashes him a reassuring smirk, as if he's able to read Derek's thoughts – which he now probably can too –, and Derek answers by letting his eyes glow blue, eliciting a quiet chuckle out of Stiles.

The Runner is close by, Derek can feel his bones shifting in anticipation and adrenalin surges through his body. They have been on hunts together before but this is new. Stiles is an equally powerful companion now and he also has the advantage of his genius-like intelligence. Pride fills his chest as soon as he finishes that thought. He really got lucky with Stiles at his side – in a war as much as in his life.

It's impossible to approach the Runner without it seeing them, but for just the smallest moment they have the advantage on their side. It's jumping around the trees with its back to them and Derek takes a second to check it for any weapons. Sometimes they do barge at people with some kind of arm, which makes them twice as threatening and annoying to deal with.

It must be one of the very first Runners because it's clothes are almost all gone, ripped apart at the seams. There are only small patches of rags covering its bony shoulders and the pants wrapping around its skinny legs look more like a speedo than the jeans they undoubtedly once have been.

One doesn't recognize a Runner just by the clothes though. First Runners – like Scott's dad had been – look almost like a walking skeleton. Their skin turns a bright shade of black and stretches around their bones like latex. Being one of the First means that they've been running around the planet for a long time, so they don't immediately break out in a jog when they see you. Which doesn't make them any less dangerous.

Any type of Runner also rots a lot slower, making it easy to confuse them with actual survivors. Fresh Runners tend to fool you with it, though Derek doubts they actually know what they're doing. They also don't turn black for a long while. Stiles has a theory about the changing of the skin but Derek has forgotten what it is. It comprises a lot of confusing stuff he is not quote convinced Stiles hasn't just made up.

Runners are the most dangerous type because they are fast and able to keep quiet until they spot you. It is only now that he lives together with a Runner himself, that Derek spots another telltale sign of their kind. The veins on their arms and feet stand out like they were injected with dark ink. So that is obviously a thing.

When Stiles gives him the signal to surround it from up front he notices the dull, hollow eyes and the blood covering its whole front like a second skin. It's almost a shame it survived for two years to be slaughtered by him and Stiles. Almost.

The moment the thing catches sight of him it emits one of its most powerful weapons: a scream so loud and high pitched, it hurts not only his ears, but the sound always leaves him with a constant ringing in them for hours. He also realizes that he is the bait, his heartbeat luring the thing directly towards him.

He can only smirk at Stiles' strategy – the teen doesn't go easy on him; protecting him nonetheless by always staying close to the thing approaching Derek.

They're a team, now more than ever, and Stiles orchestrates the fight to achieve the best outcome. Runners don't usually fight each other to death – they only assassinate lower Turned with great vigor – but they do bicker over their territory. Most of the times it ends with a Runner having a limb less on its body.

This time though Stiles is here to kill. Derek is more relieved than he thought he'd be to see that Stiles holds his hunting knife firmly in his right hand. He's still fighting like a human, even though he also has the power to smash the Runner's brains in with his bare hands.

It's closing in on Derek, screeching for all it's worth, and he retreats, trusting Stiles to strike in the right moment. Together the three of them walk backwards, the Runner lifting its legs in aborted motions but Derek notices that he and Stiles seem to move like only one individual.

He's experienced this the last time he was fighting with Scott, their wolves acting like a finely honed blade. Stiles and he are one too, backing up in fluid flows of their bodies. They're slippery as water, strong like the earth, threatening like scorching fire and as silent and elegant as the wind.

It confuses the Runner that Derek eludes its grip time and time again, his body just mirroring Stiles'. 'Hey,' he takes in the teen's shout and the screeching comes to an abrupt halt, the creature whipping its head around so fast, Derek hears some bones breaking.

Stiles isn't scared, they both know he has way more energy and strength to beat this Runner to a bloody pulp before it can even open its mouth again. He is, after all, a Fresh Runner. A First is no match for him.

'Sorry, buddy. No one gets to hurt the King,' he winks – he seriously _winks_ at the thing – before he rams his knife so deep into its skull that Derek can see the pointy end sticking out of it on his side. Actually, the longer he looks, the bigger the blade gets.

Before he can blink Stiles has split the Runner's head into two; old and stinking blood splattering all over Derek's face. 'Ha, look at that,' Stiles wonders gleefully and snickers when he watches Derek go all angry. 'Not even a stain on me or your sweater. Dude, I love the thumbholes by the way. Really comfy.'

Derek sighs and swallows down some of the rage threatening to spill. It's not like he just bathed this morning. No, he loves walking around with dark, almost gray blood spatters on his face. Just like he loved needing Stiles' help when he was shot with the wolfsbane bullet a whole lifetime ago.

'We are an amazing team,' Stiles congratulates them with a loud and satisfied laugh. 'We're like a deadly yet handsome duo. We should call ourselves the Alpha Boyz, no, the Alphas of Destruction.'

Derek grabs Stiles' hunting knife and cleans the blade on a patch of grass before handing it back. He can't stay mad at Stiles, especially not when he sees the open and unguarded look in the younger's face. 'Aren't you a little too young to know them?' Stiles shoots him an undignified glance. 'You're asking that the one with the google fu? Derek, I thought you knew me better.'

'How could I know you would spend a whole week researching wrestlers?' Stiles grins and pats Derek on the back. 'Foolish Derek. I only needed two nights. My parents were into it until my mom died,' he explains with more seriousness than they both can handle at the moment.

'She loved it. I remember her baking pies, before she got ill, shouting _If ya smeeeeell what the Rock is cooking_ through the whole house and trying to get me into school wrestling. Don't laugh,' he adds and jams his finger into Derek's belly.

'I didn't do anything,' he defends himself but Stiles just squints his eyes and waves dismissively.

'I can see it written all over your face. You wanna laugh because you pictured me wrestling.' Derek doesn't answer; he's guilty of that one. 'And you pictured me _losing_ ,' Stiles adds incredulous and starts laughing almost immediately. Derek can't help himself. He has to join him.

As they walk back to the cabin Stiles can't stop snickering and Derek is sure he can see a few tears running down his face. Evidently, there's still a huge human part in him.

'Okay, if you don't like the name, how about Two Alpha Power Trip?' What is it with Stiles and calling them alphas? Derek stays quiet, giving Stiles enough clues about his thoughts. 'Extreme Alphas?'

Derek sighs, glad to see the cabin in between the line of trees, and shakes his head. 'Just pick one.' Stiles grins like he has won a fight he knew he would decide for himself even before starting it. Smart and cocky. What has Derek gotten himself into?

'I know what you're thinking,' Stiles says the moment they break through the woods and walk around the small lake to gather their dry clothes. 'But Stiles, I'm not an alpha anymore,' he mimics Derek way too grouchy. 'You know what? I don't care. You're my alpha. And we,' he points at his chest and then to Derek's, 'are the new and old Hale pack.'

Derek smiles at the display of affection but has to object anyway. There is no Hale pack anymore. And he hopes there'll never be one again. He's done with that. 'I like to call us the Hale-Stilinski pack.'

Stiles stares at him with wide eyes, mouth open and trips over a small stone, landing face first in the water. Derek grabs him by the collar and pulls him back on the warm ground.

He listens to Stiles cough violently, spitting out water that he had accidentally swallowed and washes his face thoroughly before he sits down next to the teen, running his fingers over the grass and the tiny colorful flowers blooming in between. He's really glad they've found a quiet and beautiful place like this to stay for a while.

Stiles slowly composes himself again and Derek can practically feel the hesitant look prickling on his neck. So he stretches his legs to invite Stiles to do whatever he pleases, but the teen just shakes his head, gesturing wildly. It's an adorable flailing and Derek is glad he can perfectly understand Stiles' very own sign language.

He waits for the other to get ready and rests his head in Stiles' lap as soon as he gets the okay. Stiles' blindingly happy smile is contagious and soon they're both grinning like fools, but Derek doesn't really care. He just closes his eyes and enjoys the feeling of Stiles' fingers in his hair, making a total mess out of them, and the sun trickling his nose.

'The Hale-Stilinski pack,' Stiles breathes awestruck and Derek nods slowly, lulled into the first stage of a nice nap by the rhythmic touches of Stiles' careful fingers and the pleasant warmth shining down on them. 'I like the sound of it.'

Derek does too.

* * *

Day 289  
Oct 5th

N°111 DIFFERENT TYPE OF ZONES

 

 **Yellow Zone  
** Usually smaller towns with no connection to any bigger cities. Towns you would miss if you don't squint while checking out the map. The population is a joke and the people so freaked out by the apocalypse that they've fled. Yellow marked towns are usually void of people and only inhabited by either Crawlers or Walkers Type I. Though a horde or a Runner still can pass through. So be always on your guard.

These towns are also most likely not worth looting, since people take everything if they feel safe enough to go through each building. You'll also encounter many houses with hasty barricades. Avoid those, the owners are usually dead – famished – and Turned. Their provisions are nothing you should die for.

Yellow flagged towns are actually the safest place, if you want to settle down. Which is not a wise idea. Food will run out sooner than you think and unless you know how to grow vegetables/fruits you should try your luck with scavenging.

Since we don't know the true numbers, Lydia and I decided to mark every town as yellow with a population up to 50,000. Before the Outbreak. Obviously.

 **Orange Zone  
** Be warned: Orange Zones are a place for rogue groups to assemble. Larger buildings to claim, more room to build camps, a higher chance of finding more supplies, etc. Basically a good idea. If Rogues weren't such jerks to live with. Some of them might still be good, but you can't trust anyone. We've seen people turn into cannibals, trying to eat some of our pack.

Just take what you need and get out of there again. Orange Zones are good for supply hunts, but you should stay away if you're well-stocked on everything. Rogues tend to not let you go once you've stepped into one of their traps.

Aside from the rogue humans you'll also encounter all three types of zombies. Four, if you count the horde as a separate one. Hordes are not as big (usually! There's always an exception when you least expect it) but still deadly. You should know by now how to deal with Crawlers. Runners are rare, though they grab you the moment you let your guard down.

Don't make any noise – if you can avoid it. Shooting a gun in Orange Zones helps Walkers to form a horde faster because there are more of them roaming around. Don't wander too far into the city without a backup plan. Also, don't get lost. That's actually the worst thing that can happen to you, no matter where you are.

Orange Zones have a population up to 150,000.

 **Red Zone  
** Big/capital cities. Red Zones were the only thing the government announced before all communication broke down. They're marked as the most dangerous zones because of the high population and the fast turning rate. Just do the math, it's pretty easy.

The infection is spreading like crazy in the bigger cities. Which means for you as a brave survivor: stay the hell away. Usually. See, the only good thing about a city full of several zombie hordes and at least a dozen Runners in a ten to twenty mile radius are the goods you can scavenge.

People in the cities fled or at least tried to during the first days of the Breakout. So they left a lot of stuff behind, just like in Orange Zones. If you're brave (or stupid) enough to go into a Red one, heed my warnings. You won't have a quiet minute and you should avoid hordes at all cost. Also Runners, because their screeching attracts other Turned. And you know that they don't like to share.

If you'll stumble over other survivors in a Red Zone, congratulations. They'll probably eat you because they can't leave the house. One way or another, you'll end up as prey.

You should only go into one if you have enough power on your side, a good amount of silent weapons, a lot of confidence and a mighty need for adventure. Also, if you're horribly low on stuff and it's the only direction you can go.

Red Zones have a population from 150,000 up to Los Angeles (3,800,000 something). Yes, quite a large number but you should avoid Reds anyway. Don't make me say I told you so.

Lyds and I took some liberties with labeling cities/areas as Red though. If we deem a place too dangerous (and trust me, we know our shit), then we put the red flag on it.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on 'the bite is a gift':  
> Derek and Stiles have some trouble adjusting to their new life with Stiles being a Turned himself but after hunting down a Runner, they find their way back to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just like I promised, here's the next chapter - the last one for this year. Have tons of fun with it (and sorry for any mistakes). Wish you all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! <333

Stiles' engine kept making noises he didn't particularly like. Every time he tried to start the Jeep, it took him longer and longer to do so. He feared he would soon have to discard his beloved baby. The only good thing about it was that he would get to drive around with Derek, since his was the only car without any other passengers and therefor with a lot of free space.

They've been driving all night – Stiles was ninety percent sure they were moving around in a circle because those houses looked way too familiar – trying to find a new shelter for all of them. The pack had constantly been on the move since Erica and Boyd, and Derek had gone eerily quiet. Though, Stiles thought, pensive was a better word for it.

Isaac couldn't seem to stop moving since then, always eager to be the first to go on a supply hunt or help defend whoever was in peril. It wasn't like he sought out danger. Stiles suspected that he just felt so helpless that he had to keep his mind occupied with useful things.

At least that was how he felt.

His was the last vehicle on the road, Scott leading them on his bike with Isaac clinging to him, Jackson following closely in his Porsche with Lydia and Allison to keep him company. Derek was directly in front of him and Stiles caught the werewolf staring back at him in the rearview mirror from time to time. Probably to make sure Stiles was still there.

But honestly, where would he be able to go? The whole world was a playground for all kinds of crazy now. Without the protection and moral support of the pack he'd be completely lost and definitely a lot closer to suicide than he liked.

The sun was moving agonizingly slow across the sky and Stiles yawned for the umpteenth time in the past hour when his Jeep came to a stuttering halt, smoke creeping out under the hood. Yeah, why not? As if his life wasn't shitty enough already.

He got out of the car, not even bothering to check if he was safe, and opened up the hood, trying to salvage what he could. The smoke penetrated his lungs and when he finished coughing Derek was standing right next to him, a comforting look on his usually so stern face. He stepped back and let the werewolf look at whatever he could see in there while he listened to Scott turning his bike around and Jackson's Porsche coming to a halt, the beta now in charge of the head of the group.

'I could repair it but we lack the parts,' Derek apologized totally unnecessarily. It wasn't his fault that she decided to let him down this day. Actually, Stiles was rather surprised she had lasted this long.

'Everything okay?' Scott asked while opening his visor and suspiciously eyeing the smoke still coming out of his car. 'I'd say engine failure,' Derek explains and Scott nods, looking at Stiles like someone they loved had died – and maybe by now his Jeep was like a family member to him but he couldn't dwell on the matter or he'd start crying again.

'You'll take him with you, right?' Scott half ordered, half begged for confirmation and Derek just nodded curtly while opening the door, grabbing all of Stiles' stuff and ushering him to his enormous vehicle.

He didn't dare to look back at his mom's beloved car.

Once they were inside and Stiles was sitting comfortably next to Derek, he wasn't even surprised when the werewolf criticized him for his former recklessness. 'You can't just get out of the car without checking your surroundings. How many times do I have to tell you that?'

Why bother anyway, Stiles thought bitterly but bit his lip hard to not let Derek catch onto his inner turmoil. There wasn't a safe place anywhere anymore. He was sure if they had stayed just a few minutes longer they'd have encountered another batch of zombies trying to eat their faces.

'I hope I'm wrong but your behavior is bordering on suicidal,' Derek muttered loud enough for him to hear and he probably felt a pang of relief when Stiles emitted guilt and shame like those were the only emotions he was able to feel.

It wasn't like he felt downright suicidal. He just no longer cared about his life or well-being. Stiles kept the others safe whenever it was his duty or no one else had a chance to intervene. He wouldn't let his friends die and he would protect them as long as he could.

But he couldn't care less about his own safety. It didn't matter if he died tomorrow or in ten years, he was doomed to come back as one of them anyway. He would force his friends, his family, to harm him before he was able to kill or infect them. Stiles recently just felt like a burden to the group.

Not yet a real danger for them, however, the lines were starting to blur.

No one had approached him about this, but of course Derek noticed. He always did. It made Stiles wonder how many times the other had known stuff, vital information or just random facts, without ever letting others in on his little secrets. Stiles should feel honored the wolf is allowing him an exclusive peek inside.

These days, Stiles didn't feel anything. He was a numb, walking darkness. Funny how history always repeated itself.

'Why don't you try to get some sleep? You haven't rested properly since this whole thing started,' Derek suggested in a voice that reminded Stiles painfully of his mother – before her illness – when she tried to tuck him in bed and he'd sneaked out just to cuddle with her some more until he fell asleep wrapped up in a rug, breathing in her sweet perfume.

He knew he wouldn't be able to doze off. Not for a long time, at least. It was stupid but he really couldn't find any rest without his pillow. He'll never forgive himself for not packing it on the first night. Stiles once had asked Derek with a scribbled note to try and find him some replacement but so far he'd been out of luck.

Stiles climbed to the back of the car nonetheless, knowing full well that sleep would elude him another time, but at least he'd be out of Derek's sight, not able to deal with all the werewolf's honesty and worry.

He watched trees pass by through the window at his feet, witnessed how the sun got replaced by puffy clouds that soon decided to change their color and carried around tons of rain. By noon he couldn't tell what he was seeing outside the car, since the raindrops kept making everything bleary.

Because there was nothing else to do, he closed his eyes and desperately tried not to think of Erica or Boyd or his father. But that single gunshot he heard over the phone always turned into those two Erica had fired, using his gun to end two lives.

'You're not even trying,' Derek complained after another hour spent in silence and Stiles sat up to search in his bag for his journal. He opened it at the last page and wrote down Can't sleep without my pillow. I'll stab you through the seat if you laugh! before he held it next to Derek's face so he could read it.

He felt embarrassment flush through his body the moment Derek dared to look away from the street and at his note. He was seventeen, turning eighteen in just a few days and shouldn't need his stupid cushion.

Derek thankfully didn't laugh – neither at Stiles nor at his lame joke – and just kept his eyes straight on the road. 'We'll find a solution for that,' he promised and Stiles lay back on the seats, listening to the soothing drum of the rain falling on the car. It even drowned out his wildly beating heart pumping blood through his ears.

Just when he was about to drift off into a restless nap, Derek hit the breaks so hard Stiles almost fell off the backseat. 'There's trouble ahead. When you get out of this car, you don't get to take the easy way out.'

Stiles nodded without a moment of hesitation. Like he mentioned earlier, he wasn't suicidal. Not completely.

Interesting though how Derek had said when and not if. He knew only too well that Stiles would go out there, trying to prove to the pack – or maybe just to himself – that he was worth saving. Worth their time and love.

It was really good to have someone at his side who could read him without even trying to. Hopefully there'd come a day when he could thank the other properly for all he had done in the past for Stiles. 'You should take your gun. Just to be on the safe side.'

Stiles nods and carefully places the weapon in the makeshift holster he'd made out of a belt and a small silver chain. It wasn't perfect but he kinda liked it. And the apocalypse had just started. He'd have plenty of time to upgrade it in the future.

Well, if that wasn't something to look forward to. He rolled his eyes at himself and grabbed his bat, hugging it tightly to his chest.

They hopped out of the car at the same time. Stiles could feel Derek's hands holding him back and adjusting his hoodie before they ran to Jackson who told Lydia to stay in the car with Allison. Scott and Isaac were already standing a few meters away in the soaking rain, eyes fixed on a threat Stiles couldn't see nor hear.

'It's just the one or can you make out any more?' Isaac asked for reassurance and sighed in relief when Scott nodded, face stony and unforgiving. 'But it's fast,' their alpha murmured, worry accompanying his words. 'Faster than anything I've heard so far. Maybe it's not a threat?'

Stiles watched Derek crane his neck to get a better angle or just look handsome or whatever it was that he wanted to achieve with this. Stiles just knew that Derek was listening hard, trying to block out the heavy rain and their accelerated heartbeats.

He tried not to breathe too loud to not distract Derek any further. 'It's not human,' he stated and Stiles could see the muscles in his arm twitch. For some reason he just knew that Derek forbid his own body to step protectively in front of Stiles. He couldn't tell why but he was glad the werewolf didn't do it.

'But what is it? Walkers don't move at such a high speed and I can't hear any other stuff like the whirling of tires.' Jackson still looked at Derek first whenever he said something he wanted his alpha to approve of. It was strange but Stiles never felt connected to Jackson, except for the times he did that. Though they sought out Derek for very different reasons.

'Is it running?' Isaac chirped in, extending his claws. 'They don't run.'

They didn't. So far they had only encountered the types of zombies Stiles had dubbed the Lonely Soldiers (Walkers), the Depressed Ones (Crawlers) and Murder Families (hordes). Stiles prayed to all the Gods existing that, pretty please, there wouldn't be another one.

One that apparently could run fast. As if they needed another asset to make them more threatening.

When the werewolves crouched down, ready to pounce on their intruder, Stiles knew it was time to get his shit together. A new type of enemy was no reason to lose the last shredded pieces of hope. As long as they kept going, he would be at their side.

And if one of them chose to step out of the circle, then Stiles would let them. It wasn't his choice to make and he couldn't force someone to cling to a false hope or to life itself. He'd say his two cents about it but in the end it wasn't his decision. He knew all too well how it felt to want to vanish through the back door hidden in the shadows.

He was prepared for anything, for every gruesome picture of a new mutated type of zombie with three legs or two heads, drooling some kind of acidic spit. Something that would rather fit into Silent Hill or Racoon City.

What he saw instead was Agent McCall running out of the woods, face twisted in agony and hot fury, eyes dull and never resting.

As soon as his gaze landed on their little group he opened his mouth and screamed so loud and high that even Stiles had to cover his ears. It was an inhuman sound, filled with rage and even some kind of sadness. Maybe he recognized Scott as someone he had once known and loved. Just like Boyd had come back for Erica and she had used her last lucid moments to eliminate them.

If that was true then they could no longer deny that at least a few turned people still had a human part left in them. It didn't even have to be a huge one. More like a... spark. Yeah, Stiles could definitely see that spark light up the lifeless eyes of Rafael McCall. It was just for a second but neither of them could ignore the understanding flickering over the agent's face.

Like he had given Scott his blessing to do whatever he needed to. Stiles wished his friend wouldn't have to be in this position. Losing Kira and Melissa was still slowing him down, the memory crashing over Scott every time he was finally about to start getting over it.

As fast as it appeared the spark was gone again, washed away from the pale, slightly darker looking face with the help of the pouring rain; the fire burning inside though was still powerful. Whatever Scott's father was, he sure was fast and strong.

Stiles couldn't even retreat before he felt a hand grabbing his arm, smashing him against Jackson's Porsche. He heard the girls scream his name and tried to at least sit up but his head was spinning violently and every movement triggered a new wave of nausea.

He let his fingers run over his head and wasn't really surprised when they came back bloody. A look at Jackson's car would show him a few hours later that Rafael had thrown him against the window, creating a nice web of cracks.

The fight continued and Stiles could make out threatening roars, low growling and a lot of noises that indicated bodies were being thrown around. He was so dizzy, he couldn't even make out friend from foe. The five figures dancing in the rain moved so fast that he was kinda glad he could rest here for a little while.

A nice shade of the color red appeared in front of his eyes and he smiled lazily as he recognized Lydia crouching down next to him. The roaring continued – Stiles could easily distinguish Derek's from the other ones even in his state of mind – while more arms than Lydia should possess dragged him into the Porsche.

He instantly felt crowded and unable to breathe, so Stiles tried to focus solely on Lydia. Who was apparently talking to him.

While he lay there he couldn't help but realize how good she was looking. Not in that I have a crush on you way. More the you don't seem like the voices are driving you crazy anymore way. He could only remember her how she'd been the last few months, so it was nice to see her like this again.

There were still dark circles under her eyes and her skin was pallid but the hurried look had disappeared, making way for the sharp intelligence and healthy self-confidence that kept surrounding her. Her hair was in disarray, stray locks falling flatly around her beautiful face.

The lips that used to be the home of the reddest and most brightest of lipsticks are moving constantly. Just watching them part and close made him want to shut his eyes to stop the world from spinning.

He heard the screeching and the answering roars outside the car but couldn't focus on the sound of Lydia's voice. A hand slapped his cheek and he didn't even need to look to know who he should thank for that. Allison had just hit him and she kept doing it.

He held up a shaky hand, covered in his blood and dirt to stop both of them. The silence that followed helped him clear his mind and he tried to smile at the girls. It couldn't have been his best one because they kept shooting him worried glances, so he nodded reassuringly – cursing himself for the sharp pain in the back of his head – and scrambled out of the car without paying them any heed.

He needed to know if the guys were okay because the noises had stopped and it made him nervous not to know what was going on. He could hear Lydia yelling his name, begging him to rest a bit, let them check him for any serious injuries, but he didn't listen.

Even if he was bruised and broken, none of them was a doctor. There were no more physicians, nurses or hospitals they could go to. The only job one had in the apocalypse was being a survivor. He wouldn't let a concussion stand between himself and Derek.

Every step hurt him horribly and shot a new surge of pain through his head. He could also feel the blood trickling down his chin, ruining another one of his favorite hoodies.

Before he could comprehend what was happening he felt two strong arms wrap themselves around him and fought only half-heartedly against the grip – it could have been Agent McCall after all. But the one dragging him was stronger and soon he was lying in Derek's car, watching the stubbled face above him doing things it shouldn't do.

Like looking sad and hurt and helpless.

So he smiled again, this time pretty confident that it had worked, and tried to give Derek the peace sign. He only managed to twitch with his finger before the darkness took him.

Stiles woke up when a hand carefully clapped against his still stinging cheek and a soft voice whispered his name. 'Don't fall asleep.' He wanted to huff at the irony but only managed to turn to the side to puke all over the floor.

'I'm so glad we're gonna leave that car behind,' Derek muttered in a mockingly disgusted way. Stiles was so thankful for the cooling hand never leaving his face even during his little escapade that he used his last energy to laugh out soundlessly.

He watched Derek roll down his window and tried to take in his surroundings, as well as to remember what had happened. His legs were resting on Derek's lap and together they sat – or in his case lay – on the backseat of his car.

There had been a fight with Scott's dad. Scott!

He made the mistake of wanting to sit up, the headache stopping him immediately. Stiles also didn't want to vomit all over the back of Derek's driver seat a second time. So he hugged his arms tightly and imitated a shiver, hoping the other would get the signs of distress and discomfort.

However he did it, Derek got his clues right away. 'Depends on how you define okay,' the werewolf answered slowly. 'He's a bit shaken up but he did what he had to do.'

Stiles nodded, knowing full well what that meant. Scott had killed his own father. He'd have to make sure to comfort his friend as good as he could once he was feeling better. Speaking of...

Stiles feigned a blackout with the back of his hand gently clapping against his forehead. Derek opened the car door to breathe in some fresh air – the rolled down window didn't seem to help anymore – and composed himself to turn back to him again. What a brave soldier. Stiles couldn't care less about the stink of his vomit. He'd puked out himself once, nothing could get more disgusting or weirder than that.

'You were out only a couple of minutes.' That was good, wasn't it? No lasting damage then. Though his head pulsed like it was trying to explode with all its might. The hand on his face disappeared, patting his legs only a second later. 'And before you ask, I didn't take any of your agony away.'

Stiles weakly held his thumb up, still wondering why he wasn't in more pain. He was pretty sure he suffered from some craniocerebral trauma or at least a severe case of whiplash. Scott's dad had possessed a lot of stupid power, flinging him across the whole street and into Jackson's car with nothing more than a flick of his wrist.

He balled his right hand into a fist and smashed it without any vigor against the inside of his left one. Then he pointed to his head and the window above him. Derek smiled approvingly and bent down a bit to whisper as lowly as he could, 'You cracked it pretty good. Jackson is pissed.'

'Damn right I am,' came the gruff shout from somewhere behind Derek and they both smiled like they were sharing cookies from a secret stash in their room. Jackson's face appeared in his line of vision, looking more worried than Stiles was comfortable with. 'You okay?'

He nodded once, mindful of the throbbing pain in his head. 'You're so lucky this is the apocalypse. It it weren't, I'd make you pay for the window,' the beta threatened with a lopsided smile and Stiles just shooed him away with his fingers, saying You wish with the gesture.

Stiles closed his eyes as soon as they were alone again to shut out some of the pain penetrating his eyeballs. 'Scott did though,' Derek continued their abandoned conversation and Stiles refrained from commenting that. Of course had Scott taken some of his pain away even though he had explicitly stated once that he didn't like it. Not one bit.

But his best friend was just trying to help, easing some pain of one of his betas because that was something he could do for him at that moment. And Scott always did what he thought was right. He couldn't hold a grudge because of that. It was just that he had done a piss poor job of it, judging by the hurt flashing through his veins every time he blinked.

Without opening his eyes, he gestured again, making a vague wave around the car and moving his hands as if he were holding the wheel while driving. Derek's voice was like honey in his ears, weaving its way easily through the hazy fog of misery, making him feel better instantly.

'Gas tank got destroyed during the fight. We're out of juice.' Wait. Did that mean they had to walk? Oh God, no. Perhaps they could take some parts of Derek's car and use them to repair his Jeep. He really didn't want to continue on foot.

'Don't worry. Jackson has suggested we can sit on top of the Porsche. He'll drive extra slow.' Stiles opened his eyes in shock and listened to the roaring laughter Jackson shared with Isaac at that. Derek looked nothing like he'd just made a joke; only the betas giving away the punch line.

'We're leaving all vehicles behind. Today is as good as any day. And as long as you're hurt, I'll carry you,' Derek promised with a smile Stiles could only see in the mischievous gleam in his eyes. He pressed his lips together to not burst out with a misplaced love confession and waved dismissively, telling Derek to do whatever he pleased to.

'How are you feeling?' came the dreaded question and Stiles breathed in to give himself a moment to ponder over it. He felt like shit. His whole body ached and he could feel his hands and knees sting painfully – he had scratched them on the asphalt after he had kissed the car window – and his head was trying to kill him.

He lifted his arms, flailed a bit before he settled on just smashing his balled fist against the glass above him. Honestly, he felt like someone had thrown him against a fucking Porsche. Derek made a strange noise at that and Stiles could have sworn it was a badly suppressed chuckle.

Ignored the cute and terribly rude sound, he searched with his hand for something of Derek he could grab from his position. He was sure the other helped him because the next thing he felt were warm, soft fingers curling around his.

'I'm fine,' he reassured Stiles, voice tender and full of surprise. As if he still couldn't believe that Stiles really cared. Even after all they've been through together. Silly werewolf.

For now, Stiles had asked all the things he wanted to know. The only matter left now was Scott's father and the new type of enemy they were obviously facing. Derek must've really studied Stiles Stilinski very intensely because he knew what was going on in his head before he even could come up with the proper signs to explain it.

'You want to talk about Agent McCall.' Stiles nodded, pressing his eyelids tightly shut to deal with the onslaught of throbbing pain. 'We all need to do that. Lydia has found her mother's necklace on him. Scott tried to sniff out some clues but his nose failed him.'

Stiles didn't even ask if anyone else tried to help Scott. Derek most definitely had done it secretly, being equally thrown back when it didn't work.

But maybe Lydia could get some information from the voices. It didn't necessarily have to mean her mother was dead. There was still hope left. They also had never found Deaton, Peter, Deputy Parrish or Kira and the twins. As long as Stiles didn't see a body, he strongly believed they were alive and kicking. He had to.

'Can you get up?' Derek wanted to know but Stiles declined almost immediately. Moving was like driving a dagger into his head over and over again. He just pointed his left index finger between the two of them and then squeezed Derek's hand to indicate that the werewolf could talk with him now, throw a few ideas back and forth to share them with the pack while Stiles was just lying here, recovering.

'Fine,' Derek agreed and Stiles instantly began to gesture wildly, clumsily forming the letters B and H with only his left hand to not have to let go of Derek's fingers. 'What he was doing so far away from Beacon Hills?' Derek translated correctly. 'You fear they'll find us anywhere; following some inner need?'

Stiles nodded, massaging his temple in slow motions. This whole issue with a new type of Turned gave him another headache on top of his trauma induced one. Agent McCall had moved really fast – werewolf fast – and had let out this dog whistle like screech, most likely acting like a beacon for others of his kind.

They had to get out of there as fast as they could. Or just hide in their cars until the wave of danger he was more than sure would come had passed by.

He pointed at his pants and felt Derek lift their entwined fingers to push up his hoodie a bit, revealing the makeshift holster of his gun. 'Like Boyd did for Erica when he made it back to camp? Like she did when she–' Derek didn't need to finish the sentence, something akin to failure swinging in his voice.

Stiles squeezed his hand again, doing his best to comfort the other. Erica and Boyd hadn't been their fault. They had died saving each other in a way. Erica had chosen to end it at her friend's side. There was nothing Derek or anyone could have done to prevent that.

They rested there in silence for a couple of minutes, each lost in his own thoughts. After a while it felt wrong not to talk, so Stiles imitated the motions of shooting an arrow. 'I don't believe Chris will follow us.'

That made Stiles open his eyes, flinching at the sudden brightness. When had the rain stopped, making way for the sun to come out again? He raised his eyebrows sceptically, urging Derek to explain.

'He seemed pretty confident there in my opinion. Try to remember that evening,' Derek said kindly. He knew all too well that Stiles did his best to never think about that night again. He wanted his dad to stay in his memories like the man that made him lunch the day prior. The man who smiled and ruffled through his hair, telling Stiles with his fond looks and exasperated sighs how much he had loved him.

Not the one that shot his best friend's mom and then himself.

But Stiles wanted to understand, so he tuned out any memories trying to overwhelm him and concentrated on the moment they stumbled over Chris Argent. He had been turned already, skin shining white in the unforgiving light of the street lamps, eyes roaming around lost and confused.

He had moved towards them, slow and unsure, but he never once tried to attack. Stiles only knew one type of Turned who acted like that. Bringing his left hand up to his face, he let his finger run down his cheek, lips turning downwards in a sad and heartbreaking smile.

'You've never thought about it yourself?' Stiles shrugged, a bit embarrassed that he indeed had never spared a second thought for Allison's father since they'd left him behind. 'But yes, I do believe he's a Crawler.'

Stiles couldn't decide which fate as a zombie was worse: walking around aimlessly to try to run into survivors or finding a nice place to rest until someone just ended your undead life.

'Scott's dad, he was really fast. And very strong. When he threw you across the street like you were as light as a leaf– I– Sorry I couldn't protect you,' Derek apologized but Stiles just shook his head, wincing when pain shot through his head, and used the werewolf to drag himself into a sitting position.

He still felt dizzy and the afternoon sun was way too bright for his liking but at least he could look his friend in the eyes now. He rested their joined hands on his chest and then on Derek's, all the while shaking his head slowly. His signing screamed very clearly: not your fault.

Derek looked at him for a while, pondering over his unspoken words, and it felt like an eternity passed – in which Stiles was close to getting multiple hearts because of the scrutinizing stare – until Derek finally breathed in shakily, lips quivering as if he wanted to smile but couldn't remember how. So Stiles did it for him.

'Seems like we have a new type. Fast, strong, operating alone, shrieking once they have picked up a trail, very focused. You'll need to think of a name.' Stiles sighed and lay back again, feeling more exhausted than ever. Another type of Turned. He wondered how many there would be at the end of the apocalypse.

He dismissed Derek with a wave of his hand, closing his eyes again to get some rest before they would start walking away from here or another threat appeared.

When Derek left him back in the car to speak to the pack, Stiles pushed open the door on his side – the smell of his vomit suddenly bothering him a lot – and took a deep breath, not being able to tell if he was disappointed or glad that Derek had never once begged him to start talking again.

In the end, he was the only one of the pack not doing it. Even Jackson had asked him – when they were holed up in that fancy resort in the mountains – in that douchy way of his to please finally annoy all of them with his stupid, totally not funny jokes again.

Stiles had very clearly shown him what he thought of both Jackson and his own lame knee-slappers before he had left the group to retreat to his room on the first floor, basking in the boisterous laughter of Scott, Isaac and Allison and Derek saying, not without a hint of pride in his voice, 'He certainly doesn't need words for that.'

A day later they lost Isaac. It was the day Stiles dropped his mute act.

He listened to the distinct murmurs of the pack, feeling safe enough to roll to his side and take a nap when he heard leaves rustling a few meters away from him. It probably was just an animal walking around, carelessly breaking twigs. If no werewolf tried to pull him out of Derek's car, it couldn't be that bad.

Lydia's voice suddenly appeared directly above him and he jerked back so hard, he almost fell into his own puke. She wrinkled her nose in disgust and pointedly ignored the mess on the floor while checking his head. It was the first time he realized he was wearing a bandage. He'd really been out of it.

'The bleeding stopped,' she stated matter-of-factly but smiled tentatively down at him. Seemed like she had composed herself a lot. Her hair was falling down her shoulders like it used to when they were going to high school. She was still slightly pale but her face radiated a fierce kind of determination. He kind of envied her for it.

'Scott did his best to take away as much pain as possible. Said you were in much more anguish than he can ever take. I suppose he wasn't just talking about the one being inflicted on you when you broke Jackson's Porsche.'

She was so smart. She could've been one of the brightest people in the world, showing everyone else that one could be a genius and pretty. But the end of the world had robbed her of that future – with Jackson at her side and two disgustingly handsome and witty kids.

He longed for a world where he could visit her and her family with Derek by his side; his father waiting at home for them with a homemade cherry pie to watch the game together and Scott living next door with Allison and their bunch of dopey children, some of them blessed with their mother's cute dimples.

All he could see in their future now was death.

'Were you ever going to tell us how you've been suffering this whole time? Ugh, why am I even asking. Of course you weren't. It's because of the nogitsune, right?'

He nodded, not entirely sure anymore if it really was just because of the trickster spirit being ripped from his body. Maybe the whole darkness around his heart and the ongoing, tiring depression were playing their part in this too.

'You have to let us help you. No, forget that. I know you won't,' she corrected herself and flipped her perfect hair back over her shoulder. He stared at her dress – a nice dark blue one, littered with tiny colored flower prints, making her look like the warm and beautiful spring herself – and briefly wondered why she wasn't carrying a weapon.

They were supposed to always have one on their body. Scott's orders. Lydia wasn't one to ignore them. Maybe she thought it was safe enough with Stiles having the gun or that the threat had vanished with Rafael McCall's death. His eyes landed on the necklace she was wearing and after a moment of wondering where she had gotten it, he remembered Derek saying that she'd found it on Scott's dad.

He felt inclined to ask about her well-being and if she had been able to get any messages from the voices or any vibes from the golden chain shining brightly in the sunlight. He stayed silent when he saw the sad look in her eyes.

Lydia cleared her throat, the moment of weakness passing by without either of them addressing it but Stiles knew her mother was gone. They could only hope she was dead for good.

'I don't care if you act like everything is fine. We both know the two of us won't be okay for a while,' she continued in that firm, authoritarian clipped voice of hers, stating things he'd never spoken out loud without making him feel guilty.

'So you and I, we need to show them what we're capable of. I'm tired of sitting in the car and letting the voices scream at me, dragging me down with them. And I'm pretty sure you're sick of people ordering you to stay behind to protect the weak banshee.'

No one had ever called her weak or Stiles useless, yet he knew exactly what she wanted to say. It was relieving to see that her thoughts were similar to his.

'You are gonna drag your cute little ass out of the car, so we can start to train. I want us to be able to hunt, set traps and do some archery. We are going to show those hairy wolves that we are as good as Allison. We can do more than just sit around and play housewife for them.'

Stiles blinked twice before a smile spread over his face and he held both thumbs up to approve of her plan. He didn't feel the need to point out to her that he had protected them more than once while the werewolves were out on a supply hunt and their little camp got attacked by several Walkers.

Allison couldn't take out every dead person herself but he guesses that it didn't matter. In the eyes of some of the pack they were the weakest links in their chain. If Lydia was hell-bent on changing that, then he was on board.

She beamed proudly down at him and turned around to leave again when she bent down one last time, whispering, 'I know you've done a lot of reckless things to keep me and Ally safe.' It was her way of thanking him without thanking him at all. He appreciated it anyway.

They looked each other in the eyes for a moment, Stiles feeling strangely at ease and just tired enough to sleep until tomorrow, when the leaves rustled once more behind Lydia. One moment she was standing in front of him and the next she was getting yanked backwards, out of his line of vision.

Her scream alarmed the rest of the pack and Stiles could hear Jackson yelling her name while Isaac hissed how they could miss the second walking corpse.

Stiles scrambled out of the car as fast as he could, landing roughly on the asphalt for the second time in a few hours, ripping open new scratches as well as old ones. He didn't care. Lydia was in danger and no one of them had seen it coming, had heard it approach.

The thing was dragging Lydia around the street at an inhuman speed. She was barely able to keep up, her feet running desperately over the stony ground, trying not to fail her. It would be her death sentence if she would slow down the Turned.

Jackson tried to circle them, fear written all over his face, while Stiles used Derek's car to help him stand on his feet. Lydia had wanted them to show their strength, so he would start right now – making her know he took her words to heart.

Scott tried to jump the thing from behind but it evaded him with ease, already on the other side of the huge street, vanishing behind the Porsche. Lydia didn't scream anymore but Stiles could still hear her voice. She grunted and cursed at the thing, ordering it to let go of her hair while trying to break free.

Stiles used his bat to stabilize him when he let go of the hood. No matter how fast he and the others moved, they were always too slow. Allison was crouching on Derek's car, her bow ready to shoot an arrow through its brain, but she didn't dare to take the shot as long as Lydia wasn't out of danger.

They chased the zombie around for a while, the werewolves getting more agitated and sloppy with each failed attempt. Stiles could have also been a nice decoration; that's how much his presence mattered. The only riddle he could solve was why that thing – which was obviously the same type of creature Agent McCall had been – didn't screech like a madman.

Its vocal cords must have been ripped out at some point during its journey, leaving behind only a gaping hole in its neck that seemed to stare at Stiles mockingly, singing how he couldn't even safe one of his friends; that he was too weak to ever be anything other than a hindrance.

He got so angry staring at that wound that he didn't even care about his own safety anymore. He steadied his footing, inhaled and exhaled deeply to get ready and swung his bat with as much force as he could muster up at the thing's head the moment his eyes met Lydia's.

She ducked as good as she could to not be in his way – the zombie still trying to rip her hair off by pulling them – and Stiles felt his whole body vibrate with the impact of the swing. He didn't hurt, much less kill the thing but it shot him a confused, almost betrayed look.

Like it hadn't counted on Stiles turning against it.

Now that he had, it definitely got pissed enough to lash out violently. It hit him hard in the stomach the moment Isaac jumped forward and cut off Lydia's wonderful, strawberry blond hair to free her from the creature's grip.

Stiles dropped to the ground, heaving for all it was worth and retreated when Scott gave the order to attack. There was no holding back now that Lydia was finally out of harm's way. He heard the swooshing of Allison's arrow but the thing moved too fast for her to pin it down.

Lydia ran over to Stiles, supporting his weight with her arm around his waist while the fight got more gruesome but all he could think about was Lydia's weird new hairstyle.

He hadn't excepted Isaac to cut the hair like a professional but he had somehow managed to sever it up diagonally. The longest part brushing the tips of her shoulder while the shortest hair barely grazed her right earlobe. It felt like the end of an era.

Stiles only concentrated on the fight again when Derek landed ungracefully and with a painful moan right in front of their feet, eyes glowing in an unforgiving blue. Stiles let go of Lydia and helped Derek up, just like she had done a few minutes ago.

He had to admit that he hadn't felt such a strong urge to talk again than in that moment when he and Derek were standing there, face to face, the tips of their noses almost touching, Derek breathing hard, closing his mouth to not scare Stiles with his fangs.

He didn't utter a word but instead laid his hand on Derek's neck and locked eyes with the werewolf, nodding only once, making sure Derek understood the message right.

'Got it,' he heard the other exclaim before he threw himself right back into the fight, ripping the poor creature's arm off in the process. Well, that was not what Stiles had meant but he guessed it did the trick. They could win by removing limb by limb or just destroying the brain. He suddenly imagined the zombie to be some kind of chew toy. Only without the playing part.

It staggered helplessly around, searching frantically for its lost arm before deciding it didn't matter. The thing really was fast and had an amazing stamina, considering it could keep up with four werewolves and the ongoing attacks of an archer.

'I just can't get a clear shot,' Allison shouted, no hint of fear staining her words. Scott grunted something in return none of them understood while the creature had decided to just go after one of them and not facing them all at once. It most likely was very fond of its remaining limbs.

Jackson realized in the right moment that it was about to chase after him and ran as fast as his wolfy legs could take him, soon breaking out in a sprint on all fours; circling their cars to never stray too far away from the pack. The creature still was as fast as him, maybe even a tad faster. Jackson had no chance.

It got him by his ankle and threw him without any real effort against a tree, leaves and tiny branches falling down to the earth. Lydia gasped next to him and grabbed his elbow for comfort. Scott was by Jackson's side in no time, Isaac and Derek distracting it long enough for Scott to get the beta out of there.

Even from here Stiles could see the bare bone sticking out of Jackson's arm. Lydia's eyes widened and she tried to make a step towards her boyfriend but Stiles held her back. She couldn't go to him now, getting in danger again. First they had to get rid of the zombie, then they could snap back Jackson's bone so he'd heal properly.

Derek threw himself against the creature the moment it started moving again and this time Stiles knew the wolf had understood his message. Predict where it'll run to next and jump before it moves. Be smarter than it, then you don't necessarily have to be stronger.

He got the thing pinned down by its last arm and the skinny legs, bones easily breaking under Derek's strong grip. It was Isaac who walked around the two figures on the ground and stomped with all his power on the thing's head.

Stiles heard blood splattering and bits and pieces of brain matter flew through the air. He could also make out Derek muttering how he would never get used to this gross stuff on his skin. Lydia disappeared from his side as soon as the thing's head exploded under Isaac's shoe, arriving in just the right moment for Scott to push the bone back into Jackson's arm.

Stiles winked at Derek when their gazes met and made a little bow to honor the werewolf's fighting style. He grinned when Derek squinted his eyes and made that little eyebrow dance just for him. They all gathered around Jackson, Isaac looking smug as hell.

He watched the beta's arm regenerate itself, the wound where the bone had come out, closing slowly while the fracture would need a lot longer to heal. 'Well, that could have gone better,' Jackson muttered, his voice showing a lot better than his face that he was in a great deal of pain. At least now he wouldn't make any fun of Stiles – being a victim of a heavy punch of those creatures too.

'I think Isaac deserves some extra dinner tonight,' Scott said smiling brightly, his pride dominating everything else and he hugged his friend close. Stiles remembered at that very incident how jealous he had been of the boy in the beginning.

He had just barged into their lives – thanks to Derek – and immediately conquered Scott's heart with his I'm a bad boy now but on the inside I'm writing sad poems and want to be free from suffering; oh and I also wear scarves that make no sense because I'm a special snowflake and look ridiculously good with them even in summer; beat that Stilinski attitude.

God, he really wasn't the biggest fan of Isaac but the kid had grown onto him, just like the rest of Derek's first pack or Allison had done. Sometimes – and he didn't like those moments of weakness – he wished for a long lost time where it had only been Scott and Stiles and no one else. They had been inseparable. But life had moved on and if he was completely honest with himself, he did love all of them in his own way. Even Jackson.

'It was nothing really,' Isaac deflected, a blush darkening his cheeks. 'Derek did the most work by holding it down.' Jackson shook his head. 'Nice teamwork there, puppy, but that's not what I meant. I'm really grateful for you saving Lydia. So, thanks Isaac.'

Lydia bowed her head, trying to hide the affectionate smile from them but Stiles saw it nonetheless. Just like he always did. Isaac's mouth dropped open in confusion, Scott's chest swelled with satisfaction and Stiles could see it in the sparkling brown eyes that he wanted to hug the whole pack right now to express his joy over Jackson and Isaac bonding.

Jackson finally got up and leaned against his car, wiggling his fingers to test the healing process. He hissed and cleared his throat when he met Isaac's quizzical stare. 'That's the first time you called my by my name,' Isaac clarified and hid his hands in his pockets with a shy look on his face.

Stiles felt Derek walk up closely behind him, the wave of heat and safety unmistakably the werewolf's, and instantly leaned back to take some pressure of his wobbling legs. His headache wasn't helping him being able to stand upright on his own either.

One calm night he would have to seriously think about why Derek always knew what he needed just by catching a whiff of his scent – when not even Stiles himself was sure about anything anymore. Right now he condoned the obvious sniffing of his emotions; accepted it even thankfully.

Hopefully, there would come a time when he'd be able to pay it all back. There had to be.

Jackson shot Isaac a sly smile. 'We almost made out once, I think it's time to acknowledge it. Your name, not the–' 'Wait, wait, wait. When did that happen?' Scott interrupted Jackson's revelation with wide eyes, glee and a cute shade of betrayal fighting for the upper hand in his eyes. Stiles couldn't suppress a smirk while Isaac's face lit up like a match being ignited and Lydia stared at her boyfriend with disbelief.

'At the rave. When we wanted to inject the sedative,' Isaac explained after a while, head still red and voice shaky. Like he was fearing Lydia's wrath or that someone of the pack would judge him.

Stiles scoffed quietly. Who were they to condemn a teenager on their path to happiness. But Jackson? Seriously? Probably because they had been neighbors their whole life and Isaac had seen Jackson doing his insane amount of shirtless workouts through his window every day.

'Why only almost?' Allison joined the conversation, bow still in her hands as well as the arrows she had picked up of the street. Isaac seemed to relax at her curious voice, shoulders letting go of the tension. It was sweet and heartbreaking at the same moment.

Sties was sure the boy hadn't noticed yet but Allison was slipping out of his grip. What he had predicted all along was really happening. Allison's love confession in Scott's arms – while she thought she would die at the hands of the Oni – had worked like a charm and with Kira out of the picture there was nothing standing in their way anymore.

When Allison had broken up with Scott he'd said that one day they would be together once more. That he wasn't worried about it never happening because it was their destiny. Stiles hadn't believed in that kind of bullshit but watching Scott and Allison endlessly gravitate around each other, he could definitely see what Scott had meant.

The only one choosing to ignore it was Isaac. It must hurt less to just go on instead of stopping and recognizing the love blossoming again between those two – being reduced to only star as a guest in their romance. Stiles felt bad for Isaac all of a sudden and swore to himself to keep a close eye on the youngest wolf. He should try to make him happy at least once a day.

'Well, Erica was in the middle,' the beta spoke again. 'And Jackson was in kanima mode. Kinda scary.' Jackson laughed out loud. 'I remember you being all badass yourself.' Yeah, that time when they were still freshly bitten and had thought that they were now all super cool and bad as shit. If that was what a bite turned you into Stiles was really glad that Peter never followed through with his offer.

Lydia stood up, hands on her hips, the short part of her hair flying into her face. She didn't even bother with it. 'Why does nobody ever tell me the interesting stuff?' she accused them instead and the whole pack – minus Stiles of course – laughed either in embarrassment for keeping her in the dark for so long or delight.

'Now that we know that you two have a history, can we talk about the monster instead? Because it's creeping me out,' Allison said in a stern voice, but the dimples never disappeared from her face; the sheer image of Jackson, Erica and Isaac making out too good to dismiss so easily.

'They're definitely something we should avoid at all costs,' Scott answered pensively, gaze turning back to the thing with no head and only one arm left. 'We needed four werewolves to destroy it.' Allison cleared her throat the exact moment Lydia did, making Scott visibly uncomfortable in his skin. He held up his hands defensively and corrected himself.

'Our archer and Stiles too, of course. What would we do without the bat?' Stiles rolled his eyes so hard he might have actually strained something. It definitely didn't ease the throbbing pain in the back of his head. 'Not that they really helped,' Jackson murmured and Scott hurriedly kicked him in the shin.

Stiles snorted, knowing all too well that Scott had thought exactly the same. 'Thanks to Stiles, Isaac could safe me,' Lydia pointed out, voice steady but challenging; daring anyone with squinted eyes to contradict her. She shot her boyfriend a look Stiles could only describe as downright threatening before he heard a muffled thanks from Jackson for helping Isaac free her.

He waved his hand and closed his eyes, finally giving in to the pressure building up in his head. He wished he could just sit or lie down again.

'So there are zombies that can run a marathon and posses a great deal of power. We should really be even more cautious from now on,' Scott summarized their day's events and Stiles heard a lot of agreement from the pack. 'Got a name for it yet?'

Stiles didn't need to open his eyes to know they were all looking at him. He had never said a word, just written down names in his journal but every time he had dubbed a thing it quickly spread throughout the pack. He suspected Derek to read his journal from time to time, judging by some notes the other had scribbled down there, but he didn't mind.

It was kind of amazing to hear the others call that type of zombie a Crawler or a Walker. The only logical conclusion would be to name the newest ones Runners. He'd briefly thought about calling them Canaries in honor of the Black Canary but it didn't fit with the rest of the types.

He bumped his shoulder back a little to nudge Derek softly with it and held his hand up to show the wolf two of his fingers moving rapidly, like legs trying to win a race. 'Runner,' Derek murmured almost inaudible into his ear and Stiles nodded, gripping Derek's arm tightly when the world started spinning again. His private meeting with the window glass had really knocked the wind out of him.

'It's called a Runner,' Derek announced and helped Stiles lie down on the street. 'And we need to get out of here. This one might not have had the ability to scream but it got here because of by the first one. We're lucky they seem to operate alone.'

'There is always a chance a horde picked up the screeching too,' Isaac mused and Stiles felt more than heard the shiver going through all of them at the thought of a gathering of hundreds of Turned trying to find some dinner. 'Alright, then let's pack our stuff and move,' Scott ordered. 'We'll hopefully find a place to set up our camp for tonight soon. We all could use a break.'

Stiles tried to get up and help Derek with their bags but the werewolf insisted on doing it alone, so he stayed where he was, watching the sky turn darker with each passing minute. Darkness would fall over them soon and they would have to go a long way before it was safe enough to settle down for a good night's rest.

About ten minutes later the pack was ready, the three remaining werewolves shouldering also Derek's and his stuff because the werewolf held his word and carried Stiles on his back, his feet hooked between Derek's arms and hip, his head resting on the broad shoulders.

The other boys had made jokes about him, about them, but Stiles didn't mind. He was so glad that Derek didn't back out of his offer because he really didn't feel like walking. All he wanted to do was rest and even though it wasn't the most comfortable position to fall asleep in, he closed his eyes, knowing for sure that this time he'd nod off.

'Wherever we go, we will have to make a pit stop at a hairdresser. I refuse to walk around with that thing on my head,' Lydia complained, voice unforgiving and no doubt pointing at her new haircut. The gloating laughter following her demand was the last thing he heard before he fell into a dreamless sleep.

We'll find a solution for that, Derek had promised. Seemed like he had just single-handedly done that.

Stiles woke up the next day, having missed out roughly twelve hours, head resting on Derek's chest, the werewolf also soundly asleep. It felt so peaceful that he didn't want to get up but the hushed whispers kept driving him insane because they wouldn't allow him to fall asleep again.

So he stood up carefully to not disturb Derek's slumber and took a look around. They were in some kind of back room with a lot of empty shelves and some spray cans littered over the ground. It was a small room, only fitting in the two of them comfortably and the door was slightly ajar.

Trying to understand what the rest of the pack was talking about he slipped through the gap, tip-toeing until he realized that three of them were actually werewolves, being able to hear a squirrel fart even from ten miles away. He walked around the corner and took in the lemon themed wallpaper and decorations before he stumbled into the main room.

Lydia and Allison were sitting in two monstrous chairs, Jackson and Scott standing behind their – for the lack of a better word – girls, scissors in their hands and cutting the wonderfully glorious hair. Stiles almost screamed because of the blasphemy he had to witness.

Dark locks of Allison's silken curls fell to the ground where strawberry blond hair was already piling up. 'You're awake,' a tiny voice greeted him from the corner and Stiles recognized Isaac sitting on top of the counter, eyeing the beta and alpha warily, while he hid his pout with one of his trademark scarves.

'Lydia thought it'd be safer if no enemy could grab them at the hair ever again.' So they really hadn't stopped until they could break into a hairdresser's. She definitely knew how to get her way. He lifted his chin a bit in Isaac's direction, imitating the pout, asking why he was acting so sullen.

Isaac sighed and jumped down from the counter to walk behind Jackson and look in Lydia's mirror. 'Said I wasn't exactly the hairdresser of her trust. As if Jackson knows what he's doing,' he lamented and Stiles bit back a chuckle. Jackson actually looked and acted like he knew exactly what he was doing, cutting Lydia's ruined hairstyle into something Stiles soon started to like.

He'd never imagined the girl with short hair, too much in love with the way she had looked for the last few years, but it really complimented her face. Checking Allison's reflection proved that she also was as beautiful as ever, even though the dark hair didn't frame her face anymore.

When he walked past Scott to get back to Derek – seriously, why had he made the effort to get up? There wasn't even any breakfast lying around – he stopped dead in his tracks and stared shocked at his friend's head. Lydia and Allison hadn't been the only ones cutting their hair.

Jackson's looked pretty much the same but it was so much shorter that it appeared a bit like someone had used the wrong settings for the hair trimmer. However, Scott's new hairstyle was only half an inch away from being a buzzcut. Stiles had to walk away and practically run into the room he'd woken up in to check Derek for a hideous haircut.

He'd really come to love the black hair slowly growing longer each month. Derek was wearing his hair slicked back, so the strands didn't fall into his eyes, somehow still making it look all puffy and soft. Stiles didn't want Derek to let it grow even one more millimeter but he also despised the idea of him shaving it off like Scott had done.

The werewolf was lying in the exact position Stiles had left him a few minutes ago, hair as perfect as ever. Smooth and silky to the touch – also smelling like freshly washed a few hours ago – tiny stray strands sticking out at the sides of his neck. He sank down the wall relieved and decided to curl up against the werewolf to steal a bit of his body warmth.

As soon as he had taken the liberty to align them as big and small spoon and closed his eyes, he fell asleep with his arm tightly wrapped around Derek's waist.

When he woke up the next time, he was all alone and the sun had already gone down, giving way to a starry night highlighting the bright moon. His stomach growled loudly, alarming everybody of his approach long before he had even gotten up and into the front of the salon.

A cold can of tomato soup was waiting for him, as well as some salacious remarks from Jackson – Isaac soon joining in on them. He pushed the betas around playfully but with a blush on his face, trying to distract them from explaining to him in every detail how they had found the two of them sleeping together in the storage room.

'Shut it, Jackson,' Lydia thankfully interrupted the embarrassing jokes at his expense. She sat down next to Stiles and he almost let the can fall down when his eyes landed on her new hairstyle. She was breathtakingly beautiful, even more so than ever. Same went for Allison who immersed out of the shadows and joined them on the floor.

She too was eating some cold soup, looking flawless and like an angel. Some people just could wear anything and still be pretty. Privately he thought Derek was one of those too. A secret circle of handsome beings, laughing about people like him who struggled with their mirror image that just never looked quite the way he wanted it to.

Allison was wearing her hair shorter than Lydia, her sides almost cut down to the skull; leaving maybe half an inch of actual hair there. But on top of her head she wore it longer, spiked up; Mohican style, he remembered the name belatedly.

Lydia's cut reminded him vaguely of a female version of Sam Winchester, season two minus the sideburns. It was a bit shorter than that though and looked way better. She wore the style with so much grace, it seemed like she didn't even miss her long locks.

Contrary to Sam she had a side fringe, her strawberry blond hair almost completely covering her left eye, while the rest had been cut nicely down, a bit asymmetrical but kind of perfect at the same time too.

'Isaac totally would have ruined that,' she teased the beta and Stiles heard the sarcastic answer echo through the large room. 'Ha ha.'

It was only now that he realized that Scott and Derek were missing. It must have shown on his face because Allison smiled, all Bambi eyes and dimples. 'They're on guard outside, also checking out the houses next to this one. How are you feeling?'

He rolled his head around a bit tentatively to test for any pain but there was gladly only a dull ache left. The sickening headache was almost completely gone. He then grinned back at her and practically inhaled his soup as answer.

She and Lydia snorted fondly at his non-existent table manners and a comfortable silence fell over them, leaving Stiles to wonder if Derek had minded waking up as the small spoon and if he could use Derek as his new pillow every night from now on.

Derek and Scott got back a few hours later, no new supplies in their pockets but a plan for a safe place on their minds. Scott had found a brochure of some hotel in the middle of the mountains not too far from here. It was worth a shot. What did they have to lose anyway?

A resort in the mountains with nothing but nature and rocks around it couldn't be any worse than the zombie infested cities.

A week later they had finally found the resort, a stunning and huge building with no human beings inside. Just a few Turned enjoying their stay there. They would only have to clean it out but otherwise it seemed like the perfect place to live.

In the end, it had only been the perfect place to die.

* * * 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on 'the bite is a gift':  
> The pack discovered a new type of Turned when Agent McCall literally ran into them. To escape the dangers of the cities they decide to head into the mointains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing this has been the worst. Seriously. I started to hate this chapter so much that I am posting it now, so please excuse any mistakes that I still haven't been able to see. Everything looks the same to my by now, just like when I was studying Japanese and all the Kanji started to look like each other. Sorry for the long wait and please enjoy =)

'This,' Derek mutters, hands tightly wrapped around Stiles' machete, 'is a bad idea.' His fingers are twitching and his body begs him to close the distance between himself and Stiles, who is currently walking in the parallel street, a massive pile of brick-lined houses keeping them apart.

What kind of stupidity has possessed him to agree to this plan?

They've set up camp in the Santa Monica mountains, a good dozen miles away from the National Recreation camping area just to be on the safe side. Both of them aren't particularly fond of encountering Turned with swollen beer-bellies and in flip flops, a straw hat placed weirdly on their heads.

Neither do they want to be forced into a position where they have to kill little children in their dirty and bloodstained white dresses, the ribbon adorning their greasy hair miraculously still in place.

Derek had insisted that they stay in the part of the mountains still located in Ventura county. He wants them to get some practice in Santa Monica first before they barge into Los Angeles with nothing but luck on their side. He's not willing to lose Stiles again – it just keeps happening to him – nor is he in any mood to risk his own life.

However, Stiles has convinced him of setting up their camp in the Leo Carillo State Park, so he could explore the sea caves and Derek could enjoy the roughly two miles of beach at the foot of the mountains. After looking in Stiles' hopeful face he didn't have the heart to deny the teen his wish.

Their stuff is at the edge of the woods with a wonderful view over the Ocean. After spending a whole week there Derek can't say he's hell-bent on moving down California anymore. They have a nice place, lots of cities to scavenge and if they don't feel like running around in infested parts they can always go back to the hunting lodge where time had seemed infinite.

Derek suspects – no, he actually wishes – that Stiles has chosen this spot on purpose. After all, he is still waiting for that beach date. The one Stiles had wanted to grant him but thought they couldn't have. Now that he is back from the dead, there's nothing standing in their way anymore.

Except for the city full of undead people they're trying to raid for some decent clothes, food for Derek and new bikes at this very moment.

They have had a discussion about the bikes yesterday that soon turned into a heated argument, with Stiles going from _They're useful for our stuff we would otherwise have to carry, you know how much I hate that_ to _For God's sake, Derek, I don't give a damn if we actually have bikes or not. I want them to unburden you! I don't get tired from running around anymore. You do! I just– I hoped you'd appreciate the thought. So don't tell me to slow down the next time you're too exhausted to run some more_ in seconds, saying things Derek knows are true but is still too proud to acknowledge.

He's not used to being the weakest member of a pack. Though Stiles never makes a big deal out of his new, remarkable abilities. He's not even talking about them a lot; awfully mindful of leaving Derek's honor intact.

Derek is just glad that his friend doesn't brag about anything he had once been better in. Stiles has mastered all his werewolf skills in no time and it even seems like there are more things he's keeping from him.

'Shut up, it's a brilliant idea, mainly cause it's mine,' Stiles answers and Derek can practically hear him throwing his fist in the air. He is way too chipper for what they are doing. Derek can't even relax one second because he's not able to keep an eye on Stiles; with all the dead people patrolling the streets.

'Then please remind me once more why we're walking around in a Red Zone alone. Stiles, if you use me as bait again, I will–'

'Don't even bother, big boy. Your threats are useless. And no, you're not. In fact, I am,' Stiles whispers nonchalantly and Derek stops dead in his tracks, staring at the house separating them in disbelief. He has just misunderstood the teen, right? Because he thinks he heard Stiles admit he was acting as bait.

Is that why Derek hasn't seen a single Turned since they have come here? Is Stiles luring their enemies towards him to secretly eliminate them without Derek being able to listen to it? Damn, that kid is good.

'Could you say that again?' he asks, judging Stiles for ever making that decision.

'I lure them to me this time. Can't have you walking around, thinking _Stiles regards me as disposable. I'm just the bait, FML_ , can we?' his companion replies in that teasing tone Derek usually likes so much but downright resents right now.

There's no way to reach Stiles other than get into the houses and jump out of a window which would be a dumb move since he doesn't know if the apartments are actually empty or full of infected families. Or Rogues, which would be even worse.

'This plan is horrible,' he says instead, voice brimmed with desperation. 'Just trust me,' Stiles begs and Derek closes his eyes to listen intently, trying to find out what the other wants to hide from him.

He nearly trips when he makes out five heartbeats echoing weakly in his chest.

Stiles must have picked up their trail the moment the two of them had entered the city. It's more than just frustrating how useless Derek's werewolf senses have become. The teen doesn't even need him to survive anymore which isn't exactly a bad thing; it just feels like the end of the world to Derek. Again.

'Don't worry. So far they're not coming our way. But they kill a lot of Turned.' Derek doesn't even ask how Stiles has gathered all that information. He faintly remembers the younger mentioning a strange sort of connection with every like-minded that tells him location, number and type.

Derek has chosen to ignore that bond in fear of it becoming too powerful for Stiles to handle one day; resulting in Derek losing him yet another time. He can't bear that thought anymore.

'I don't like it,' he insists one last time. 'No one likes it,' Stiles giggles, completely ruining the Supernatural reference himself, before they move on. He's really spent way too much time around teenagers to identify all those remarks right away.

Derek makes sure to check in on the five foreign heartbeats once in a while. He can't do it often though because it reminds him painfully of how void Stiles' body is of a pulse and how much he liked listening to it just to fall asleep or make sure Stiles was still there.

From time to time the other is guiding him into a dark alley – how does he even know where those are on Derek's side? – or onto a rooftop until the occasional Walker and one thankfully very oblivious Runner pass him by. With Stiles' guidance Derek actually feels like he's walking around in a Yellow Zone, bordering on a White one.

Derek has taken the liberty to invent the last category. He likes to call areas _white_ when there's almost nothing disturbing them. Like the cabin. Stiles hasn't written it in his journal but Derek doesn't mind. The teen made it clear that he can't stand the idea of sharing such a peaceful place with anyone else than Derek.

It shouldn't bother him so much that he hasn't killed a single one of the Turned coming his way. But it does. Mostly because he strongly believes that Stiles offs one of them every two seconds, somehow drawing all of them his way.

But no matter how hard he listens in on the parallel street, there's not a single sound he can make out. If Stiles weren't talking all the time, he'd not even know where the teen was.

It makes him nervous, agitated and his legs want to run through a brick wall more than once.

He doesn't have to concentrate to hear the high pitched screech a few blocks away. The five heartbeats don't change at all, so he supposes they aren't the cause for the Runner to signal the start of its food hunt.

'That was fast,' he catches Stiles' murmur that is not meant for him to hear. 'Was it successful?' he asks for some unknown reason and Stiles raises his voice a bit, sounding like he has forgotten Derek's presence for a moment. 'Yeah, it got a teenager with a strong heartbeat; fear and false bravery pulsing through his veins.'

Derek stares at the dark wall between them, wondering once again how advanced Stiles' abilities already are. He really doesn't need him anymore to survive. Or, well.

'You smell disappointed. And scared. Don't do that,' Stiles pleads, voice piercing right through his heart. 'They'll think you're easy game.' Derek blinks confused and breathes in to banish those thoughts and emotions. He wants to radiate confidence, so that all Turned realize he's out of their league.

'Now you're trying too hard. You probably look like you're pooping too. Derek, calm down. I'm not going anywhere and if I do, I'll always come back. Sorry for that, by the way,' he squeezes in an apology Derek doesn't want to hear because it implies that Stiles _will_ leave again one day. It's been happening way too often in the past weeks.

'No one is going to get to us. We'll be fine. You just need to trust me.' He does. By now he really does. Even though Stiles tends to leave him alone these days more often than not. He knows he too is to blame for that.

If he wouldn't stumble over his own feelings all the time, Stiles wouldn't have to leave for a couple of hours to reign in his own frustration. It's really hard for Derek to say the right things in the right moments. He fucks up most of the time.

It's not one of his charms but it's there. Stiles usually looks the other way but Derek can feel the resentment growing stronger with each of his failures. There's a storm coming their way and Derek isn't sure he's able to stop it.

'Okay, this, _no_ ,' Stiles rambles out of the blue and Derek can only stare at the reddish stone separating them irritated, not able to understand what's going on.

'They're closing in on you. You just smell too good. Seriously, Derek, would you stop worrying so much? I'm sorry for what happened, okay? I swear here and now that I will never leave you again. You might be grumpy and closed up most hours of the day but I still love yo–our time together. I'm still me and I'm still directly at your side. Always have, always will.'

Derek looks surprised to his right, barely able not to flinch. Stiles is standing there watching him with tired eyes; adoration blazing frequently through the amber orbs, finishing the words Stiles has forbidden himself to spill out again.

'Now stop advertising yourself as the best menu they've ever dreamed of,' Stiles beseeches him with wet eyes and grabs his hand to reassure him of all the things he's just said. Derek, for once, listens to his own heart and nods carefully, swallowing down the lump in his throat to focus on the difficult task of changing his own, apparently mouth-watering scent.

He listens intently to the even heartbeats of the five strangers, knowing his strategy has somehow worked when Stiles claps him gently on his deltoid. 'Nice work. Now you just smell like wolf which is not exactly good but better than an easy meal. Wolves are too fast to pursue. Except for Runners.'

'Please stop talking.' He can see the grin on Stiles' face out of the corner of his eye, the two of them moving forward again. Those foreign heartbeats grow stronger, resonating within Derek's whole body, the evident threat finally waking the animal inside.

Humans are even more dangerous to them now. There needs to be just one of them realizing that Stiles is undead to cause a catastrophe. Besides, humans haven't been the most trustworthy species since the beginning of the end almost two years ago.

The last time they had to fight and kill Rogues, he'd been able to keep Stiles out of it, offing most of them himself so the teen could preserve his innocence just for a little while longer. Derek knows that next time Stiles will have to take them out too.

He's concerned it's one of those things that can trigger Stiles' complete Turning. How much humanity does he have to lose to become one of them? Derek doesn't want to find out, so he tries to guide Stiles away from the approaching people.

The teen lets Derek lead him wherever he wants, just occasionally corrects the direction to hide them from stray Walkers. 'Why are they not coming any closer?' Derek inquires curious when another one staggers by on the other side of the street.

Stiles has pressed them tightly against a wall, Derek stuck between hard stone and Stiles' tensed body, remembering a day long ago where he had pushed the younger against his bedroom door, threatening him and the kid easily gaining the upper hand.

So much has changed and yet here they are, still the same.

'Because my scent on you is stronger than your own, which makes them think I claimed you as my prey. They know not to mess with a Runner.' Derek watches Stiles round the corner and follows deeply lost in thoughts. So all types of Turned can smell each other and they instinctively know who they can overpower and what fight would only be a suicide mission. That's a lot of smart thinking for a dead being.

'Now what?' he wants to know and Stiles turns around, smiling brightly, giving the sun real competition. 'We find our gear and get the hell out of here.' The unspoken _duh_ rings loudly in his ears, making him pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

'You know that we need to get through LA and that _you_ want to settle down near San Diego. All Red Zones.' He can't believe he's stuck with this adorable fool in the apocalypse. Not that he would like to have it any other way but still...

'Derek, look. There's still stuff in there. Dude, freaking _finally_. I was afraid we'd have to wander even further into the city,' Stiles bounces up and down, running into the open store like the reckless idiot he is, not waiting to let Derek clear the building first.

He follows his friend around the shop, not even bothering with checking the discarded items himself. For the moment, he's content with listening to their surroundings and watching Stiles throw away shirts he doesn't like. 'We'll just have to work on our strategy,' the teen muses and regards some pink pants with a disgusted look.

Derek can see the mischief bubble up the moment Stiles lifts his head. 'Don't even think about it,' he warns him and grabs the pink cloth to tear it into shreds before the other can stuff it into his backpack without Derek noticing.

'Care to explain me that strategy of yours?' Stiles nods, still pouting at Derek for spoiling his plan to steal the pants and make fun of him in the future. Burying his nose in the clothes on the ground, Stiles sorts out shirts, underwear and sweatpants while answering slightly bored, 'Obviously, you need to smell more like me. Elementary, Watson.'

Derek sighs, no longer able to keep his emotions in check. He's getting nervous again, the heartbeats growing louder with each _thump_ of his own. Stiles must hear it too yet acts like he wants them to meet the strangers. As if he thinks they could need some more practice at combat training.

'But you don't smell like anything,' he growls frustrated. Stiles is visibly taken aback – not by Derek raising his voice but by the words tumbling out of his mouth – and smiles fondly, almost flattered, after a few seconds. 'I really smell like _nothing_ to you?'

Why is he so happy about that? He should be as worried as Derek is. Every time they get separated, Derek is dependent on Stiles finding him. He doesn't like the idea of that one bit. Not because he doesn't trust Stiles to do so – the teen has proven more than once that he is indeed capable of locating him everywhere – but because he's gotten used to Stiles always being by his side, close enough to touch, to look after him.

He has sworn to the sheriff to keep his son safe. Now he just feels like it's the other way round. But the most important thing is that no one asked Stiles to do it. He's stepping in front of Derek at his own sweet will, but also respects his opinion and power in a fight. So far, Stiles is the biggest riddle he has encountered in his life. And something tells him he won't solve it anytime soon.

When Stiles throws a white tee at him he remembers their conversation and picks it up again. 'Usually you just smell like the wind. You know, as it used to be before.' 'Yeah, air doesn't have a particular odor, got it,' Stiles muses and holds up a very nice looking gray v-neck, waiting for Derek's approval.

He gives it by waving shortly with his hand, telling Stiles with the little gesture more than he has intended to. 'It's not for you. This one's mine. I just wanted to check if the color's fine,' Stiles grins playfully while tucking the shirt into his bag. Derek knows in this instant that no matter what happens, he will end up wearing that shirt anyway. For strategy purposes.

'When you wash yourself you do have the faintest traces of soap clinging to you. And sometimes, when you're wearing my stuff, you smell like me,' he explains further and doesn't mention how satisfying it is to catch his own scent on Stiles. It feels _right_ every time.

'Well that's... kinda breaking my heart. So I don't reek like decay or old sport socks to you? Nothing like the other Turned?' Stiles inquires with something akin to hope in his eyes and Derek gladly repeats his formerly stated words. 'Just air.'

Stiles thinks about it for a second, face showing satisfaction and disappointment before settling on relief. 'Is that what you really smell like?' he can't stop himself from asking even though he doesn't want to think about Stiles having the unique flavor of old, sweaty sport socks or else his mind will conjure the aroma up every time he takes a whiff.

Stiles laughs out surprised, the sound echoing gently in the small store. 'No,' he calms his worries and waits for Derek to give his blessing to another shirt – dark green, almost fading into black and he knows that this one will only belong to him. Stiles has a good taste.

'I smell quite neutral to me too. My nose usually is pretty overwhelmed with all the awesome scents I can now make out. But I remember very well that I have already told you that everything smells to me like it did before the apocalypse.'

'You did?' Derek deflects automatically, recalling the conversation all too well but trying to forget it ever since. Stiles stands up, hands in his hips, looking like he's about to punch Derek in the face. 'Dude, we had the fight of the century that started with me telling you exactly that.'

Derek avoids the piercing gaze, crouching down to sift through the clothes himself, just to keep his fingers and mind occupied. 'I don't have any memories of that.' Stiles snorts, foreign anger crashing over him.

'You don't– oh. Alright, _fine_ ,' he adds, voice stiff and clipped and Derek can feel Stiles' discontentment slowly choking him. He has trouble breathing until his friend kneels down beside him and points to a ruby red shirt that's usually too bright for Derek's liking but in one of Stiles' favorite colors and whispers almost shyly, 'That one?'

'Yeah,' he croaks out and watches the other place it inside his backpack. 'Don't think I'm letting you off the hook so easily.' He knows exactly what Stiles is talking about. He's also aware that he still owes the teen an answer. 'Understood.'

_'You know, it's different now,' Stiles muses after hours spent in comfortable silence, the sun slowly setting behind them. Night will soon force them to retreat into the hunting lodge but for now Derek is content with lying in the grass, enjoying Stiles' tentative touches._

_In all the years they've known each other they've never had a peaceful moment like this._

_Derek hasn't been the most cooperative person in the past, first using Stiles' young age as a pretext to stay away, then arguing that in the apocalypse it only mattered to keep each other safe; feelings would just get in his way, leading him astray, to finally come to the point where his unwillingness to trust Stiles and the second chance they were given had seemed too powerful to ever conquer._

_Stiles has crashed the forts surrounding Derek somehow, quiet words of reason convincing him to_ believe _again. In the teen, their future, himself. But most importantly in_ them _. They're a team now, the last members of their pack, equal leaders of a new one. One way or another, they will make it through._

_He yawns and opens his eyes to look up to Stiles. The teenager is still lying above him, propped up on his elbows, fingers darting out once in a while to play with Derek's hair and face. By now the other must have memorized every little detail of him but he still doesn't get enough._

_Insatiable. Unlike the nogitsune, Stiles only yearns for good things. And Derek is more than willing to give them to him._

_'What is?' he mutters, a nice feeling of exhaustion settling deep in his bones, indicating he's ready to fall asleep soon. He can't even tell how relieved he is to be able to rest this profoundly again. 'I can smell stuff now.'_

_Derek smiles lazily, the reaction inspiring Stiles to trace it with a finger, probably trying to catch and treasure it. He lets the smile spread wider over his face while watching Stiles' tongue dart out a bit to complete the picture of someone lost in concentration at the task._

_'Like what?' he asks genuinely interested. Every time they talk about Stiles' new body and the changes it has gone through, he learns something new and exotic. Stiles – even by just being undead – is still the most interesting specimen he's ever had the pleasure to run into._

_So, of course he wants to know everything. It also can't hurt to be aware of everything his companion is capable of._

_Stiles beams once he's finished with capturing his smile and rests his chin on Derek's forehead. 'The world doesn't smell rotten and dying anymore. For me, it's like before the Outbreak. No matter where I go, it's as if all the dead people aren't even polluting the air.'_

_Derek watches the cute little indent in Stiles' nose until his eyes hurt. What he says next just slips out of his mouth before he can even think about it. 'Because you're one of them.'_

_The light weight on his head vanishes, leaving behind only the knowledge of having said something offensive because of it being true. 'Yeah,' Stiles murmurs sadly and switches emotions in the blink of an eye. 'But get this:_ You _smell different too. Actually, every living or unliving person does.'_

_A naughty look settles on Stiles' face and Derek can feel the stupid comment roll off the other's tongue before he even opens his mouth. 'I'm the Hannibal Lecter of the undead,' Stiles snickers, hands cupping Derek's cheeks to gently crane his neck the right way so they can look each other in the eyes._

_It's one of those rare times Derek can make out a quickly vanishing trace of Stiles' old scent because a lot of different emotions fly through the air, all having something to do with him; varying from barely controlled, heady lust to the sweet and spicy odor of deep care and simple, easy love._

_Derek snorts and when Stiles winks at him he shakes his head minutely, telling the teen he's insufferable. Stiles pinches his cheeks and hesitates for only the tiniest moment before he places a featherlight kiss on his forehead._

_'Don't try to hide it, you_ love _me.' It's meant to be a joke – at least part of it –, Derek knows that but he can't stop his blood from running cold, his body going rigid and unresponsive and his mind blacking out. He sits up so fast that Stiles topples backwards in surprise._

_'Oh, erm, I didn't–' Stiles leaves the rest of the sentence unfinished, not sure if he really wants to apologize. Derek's brain is still screaming_ abort mission _so loud it's deafening, his legs scrambling in a hasty attempt to get him up and going._

_He makes the mistake of looking into Stiles' eyes – anguish, misery and betrayal fighting for dominance but letting pure sadness win in the end –, the sight almost breaking his frozen heart into a thousand pieces. He'll never stop regretting what he says next._

_'_ No. _'_

_It's a sharp, rough sound, ripping his body open, letting him bleed out the very essence of his life: Stiles. It's always been Stiles and it is oozing out of him while he watches uselessly how it gets carried away by the wind ruffling through their hair. It's slipping away and he's standing there, terrified of the truth, of hurting Stiles or getting hurt again that he just let's it go._

_'No?' Stiles' voice manages to break more than once while just squeezing out one single word, his eyes shining lost and wet, the joyful moment long gone, violently ripped away from them. Still Stiles tries hard to get it back. To convince Derek to just sit down with him again. Together they would be able to ignore what just happened, but it's a lie._

_Neither will ever forget how Derek ran away from Stiles because of a joke that scared him more than anything else._

_'It's okay, Derek. Do you still wanna know what you smell like?'_

_He's on his way to the woods before Stiles has even finished his question; already wolfed out and on the verge of jumping into the sanctuary of Mother Nature when he remembers they're in the middle of the apocalypse. 'Checking perimeter. Doing watch,' he grits out through clenched teeth, listening to a soft, disheartened_ Sure, G'night _before the trees swallow him whole._

_He doesn't return until the next morning, getting instantly overwhelmed by Stiles' sudden distanced behavior and unwavering resolve. He shouldn't have stayed away after the incident for the whole night. Stiles is in front of the hut, lacing his shoes and looking like he's about to go on a run. 'I'm gonna head into town; need anything?'_

_He says it so matter-of-factly, as if it's still safe to do grocery shopping. Derek feels tiredness creeping up on him, his body demanding an apology for Stiles and the nice bed waiting for him in the cabin. Precisely in that order._

_Derek doesn't listen to both requests. Instead he cracks the bones in his neck and walks up to Stiles. 'I'm coming with you.' He doesn't leave space for his companion to argue but one could always count on the teen to never back down from a challenge._

_'Nope,' he says determined, a faint trace of resentment and bitterness in his voice. 'I'm one of them, remember? You're just a meal on two legs. Or four. Whatever. I'm fine out there.' Stiles shoots him a hard and unforgiving look and Derek just barely manages to not fall down on his knees in defeat._

_'It's still dangerous,' he wheezes, throat tight, heart stuttering in his chest. He feels like he's losing Stiles all over again and he's grown so tired of this all consuming fear. 'What if someone harms you?'_

_He refuses to say the word_ kill _even though it is what he's really thinking. Stiles isn't human anymore which means that he can't heal. Even the tiniest scratch stays on his body for the rest of his life. The wounds inflicted by Scott are still tearing open the teen's chest._

_Stiles rolls his eyes with a disdainful snarl escaping his lips. There's nothing left of the golden shimmer in his eyes from yesterday when he'd looked at Derek like he was the most precious thing in the world. All he can perceive now is ire and annoyance._

_'I can take care of myself. I've survived sixteen years without you, okay? I don't–'_ Need you _. Stiles bites down on his tongue to stop the words from tumbling out but Derek hears them, always does, feels them shooting a poisoned arrow right through his heart, not missing even by half an inch._

_Later, much later, when his fingers have stopped shaking and his mind has recovered from the shock, he will be infinitely glad that Stiles didn't say those words. That, no matter how pissed he is at Derek, he'd never want him to believe he's just holding him back._

_Stiles hides his hands in his pockets and looks at him again, mouth a thin unforgiving line, eyes adamant. 'Don't wait up, I can see how beat up you are. If you have to leave, do it. I'll catch up to you.'_

_He doesn't like the idea of letting Stiles go to town all by himself. He can't distinguish the teen from the dangers of this world anymore, nor can he listen to the heartbeat telling him if he's is in trouble. He knows Stiles is strong, but he's also angry right now and that could lead to hastily made, deadly mistakes._

_Stiles seems to have pity with him after staring him down for about two minutes and sighs, shoulders going lax, lips opening on their own accord. 'You're the King, don't forget that. Protect at all costs.'_

_'Stiles,' he disagrees immediately, tired of all the times Stiles has used the chess references against him. That was until Derek knew that Stiles thought of himself as the Queen. He's not weak, doesn't need a babysitter – and Stiles doesn't even want to shield him from danger; it's more a secret desire to make sure he never gets hurt by anyone or anything._

_'Lock up after me,' Stiles orders and breaks out into a slight jog, finding his rhythm before he inhales deeply and runs away faster than Derek ever could. Even on all four. He should have played along with the joke last night. Should've told Stiles that yes, he indeed is enchanted by this stubborn, smart, caring idiot for a long time now._

_It's so hard not to fall for Stiles and trying not to love the teen only makes Derek love him more._

_The words_ If you have to leave, do it. I'll catch up to you _ring loudly in his ears, transforming into a harrowing slur – If you have to leave, go. I'll catch up to you,_ if I want to – _that costs him his sleep._

_He's restlessly tossing and turning around on the comfortable couch, closing his eyes just to open them again when Stiles' voice gets meaner with each repetition. Derek's surprised he's not so worried about the younger getting hurt but that he won't come back this time._

_That Stiles has finally understood how much Derek depends on him and wants to break free._

_The sun has just begun its journey down the sky when Derek – exhausted and worried like crazy – smells it. Blood and decomposition weave their way through the air around the cabin and Derek's heart pauses a beat. He can't hear anyone approaching but his nose is never wrong._

_Something is coming his way and it's bad news. As if he could need that on top of everything else._

_He sighs quietly and reaches for Clementine – Stiles' modified bat –, only now realizing that the gun, knife and machete are gone. It's leaning against the wall next to the door, mocking him, telling him that Stiles has left it behind deliberately. The weapon they've bonded over so much during their time in the mountains._

_He picks it up and grips it as hard as he can, fully intending to break it in half but restraining himself at the last second. There's still a high chance Stiles will return. He won't give up his pursue of the werewolf just because Derek freaked out the night before._

_Stiles is more headstrong than to throw it all away like that. He knows him better than anyone and he must also know that Derek is just afraid. Stiles has to._ He has to _._

_Instead of breaking the bat he holds it gently in his hands, feels the cool fabric beneath his fingers and breathes in the faintest traces of Stiles that still cling to it like their existence depends on it. He knows how that feels._

_The metallic, rotten smell grows stronger and Derek decides it's safe to take a peek through the window. He isn't fond of any surprises these days and he'd very much like to know what's approaching and how much a fight would drain him. Maybe it'll just pass by, ignore the fancy hunter's cabin because the bones displayed over the door have no flesh to feast on anymore. Derek seriously hopes it won't be able to sniff him out too._

_Mindful of Stiles' words he retreats again and grabs one of the teen's shirts, rubbing it all over his own to drench himself in something he can't smell anymore but is still there – at least for all the Turned. He then tiptoes to the window and draws back the curtain inch by inch, bat still resting pleasantly in his hand. The stench is overwhelming now, yet there's nothing in front of the cabin he can see._

_Then a thought hits him out of nowhere and puts Clem aside to step outside._

_No type of Turned smells like this. But a more or less fresh roadkill does. It's been so long, he hasn't even recognized it right ahead. Surprisingly, it's not an infected or turned animal breaking through the lines of trees. It's his friend, hands covered in blood, a trail of it running down the front of his shirt. Derek barely refrains himself from running over and check the skinny body for wounds that cannot turn to scars anymore._

_Stiles smiles easily, letting Derek know he's not injured as if he's read his mind. There is no dead animal in his hands which can only mean one thing. 'You've eaten.' What did he do?_

_The teen nods reluctantly, lips pressed together. He rubs his neck with his bloodstained hand, leaving a new stain of red on his ashen skin._

_So he has finally given in. The dreadful feeling in his gut tells Derek he has played a huge part in that decision and he feels guilty for upsetting the other so much. Panic and horror flood his body, his brain only able to form one coherent thought: He has eaten and now he'll turn completely. It's over._ Over _._

_He'll have to watch Stiles change into a raging monster right in front of his eyes. And then the task of eliminating the threat will once again be his alone. Why has he not been able to resist the urge? The whole time he has never once expressed his wish to do so. Has only ever watched Derek eat with a carefully guarded expression on his face._

_'What were you thinking?' he rasps out, voice breaking around every vowel. Knowing Stiles he'll probably answer something along the lines of_ dude, YOLO, right?

_Stiles ducks his head, clearly ashamed, and takes off his backpack. Derek can hear the telltale clattering of cans and sloshing of bottled water._

_'There was a dead rabbit lying around in the woods. It looked fresh and smelled okay,' he explains crestfallen and forces his mood to light up again. Derek can feel the change of emotions more than he can see them. Stiles struggles to hold it together for his sake. Because_ he _is freaking out._

_The least he can do is stop judging Stiles for his meal and try to hush the voices telling him he's losing the other to the infection for real this time._

_'Thought I should keep it to small animals,' Stiles mutters, smile splitting his face. His eyes however can't get rid of the hesitant and skittish flicker. Something is off, Derek just can't put a finger on it._

_'Stiles, you don't even know how long it has been lying there,' he rushes out, saying the first thing that comes to his mind and is not_ I need you, don't leave me, I'm afraid I might love you, please don't go, I promise I'll get my shit together, don't don't don't disappear _._

_Stiles smiles gently this time – most likely smelling every little, pathetic thought that runs through Derek's head – and opens his mouth, but he isn't done yet. If he stops talking now, he'll spill all those buried thoughts, saying them at the wrong time. He doesn't want to ruin it again._

_'It could be days old, other Turned could've bled onto it. It could have been a trap by Rogues–' 'It's okay,' Stiles interrupts him tenderly, eyes shining bright with affection. Life with the teen is a never ending emotional rollercoaster._

_'I appreciate your concern and how you want to protect me from making stupid decisions – and believe me, this was a really bad one because those few little chunks feel like I've swallowed bricks. I don't even know how I'm supposed to get that out of my body. Anyhow, it's really awesome and kinda cute but you don't need to. Remember the whole I'm-already-dead thing?'_

_It's only now that Derek realizes he has argued like Stiles is still alive. As if eating infected flesh could make him one of them. Like Stiles isn't already halfway there, stuck between heaven and hell._

_'I–' he begins, mouth opening and closing because he can't find the right words, doesn't even know what he is supposed to reply to that._

_Stiles does. He always does. 'I don't feel any different. Other than the really disgusting fullness of my stomach. I won't turn on you – in every sense of the word,' he vows, legs carrying him towards Derek without making a sound._

Oh _. He suddenly understands everything. The carefully guarded expression was never directed at Derek's food. It has been cast_ his _way. Stiles has tried to fight the instincts of the Turned to take a bite out of him. He's battling the dangerous side of him every second of his afterlife. For himself, but mostly for Derek._

_For them._

_Stiles really wants Derek in his life, no matter what. He'd never leave for good, no matter how hard they fight. Because at the end of the day, being at his side is the only place he wants to be._

_'A King needs his lionheart.'_

_Stiles hugs him quickly, almost shyly, before he presses his lips together and pecks him on the cheek. 'Not going anywhere. Promise.'_

'Fight of the century is a bit over the top, don't you think?' Derek inquires and leads Stiles out of the store again. He's seen a small Japanese food store down the street he wants to check out before they wander too far into the maze that is Santa Monica these days.

Stiles shakes his head animatedly while he shoulders the now half-full backpack. 'You do realize that we mostly fight without words. The first times I was considering not coming back.'

Derek's steps falter, his knees weaker than he ever remembered. Stiles has said it so casually, like it's not a big deal but to him it means everything. 'Why did you then?' he hears himself ask, voice surprisingly steady but his stuttering heartbeat a dead giveaway for his inner turmoil.

Stiles' nostrils flare slightly and Derek wants to cross his arms over his chest to shield himself from the intrusion. Since Laura's death, he's hasn't had someone in his life who dared to sniff out his emotions. Or who had cared enough to do so.

'I forgot Clem,' Stiles answers, smirk firmly in place. When their gazes meet, the teen immediately sighs loudly. 'If you seriously have to ask that, then I definitely haven't wooed you enough.'

A reassuring hand squeezes his arm before Stiles tips his index finger against his snub nose, telling Derek to stop radiate feelings that are like catnip for Turned. He doesn't miss the satisfied grin spreading over Stiles' face as soon as relief washes over him.

'How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not leaving?' He smiles back, finally regaining control over his muscles. 'Until I get tired of it.'

Stiles huffs out a laugh and sticks his tongue out, jumping into the store. 'Guess you need to woo me some more,' he teases, not really wanting Stiles to ever stop. 'You wish,' his friend answers promptly, eyes scanning the almost empty shelves for anything useful.

Derek walks around the store, too focused on the task at hand with Stiles right beside him – who comments on every item he picks up – to pay the five humans any more heed. He better should have checked in on their pulses at least once in a while.

But Stiles practically rubbing himself all over Derek while making all kinds of obscene sounds is just too captivating to not pay attention to. It's all a big joke, he knows that as well as Stiles and he appreciates the effort to ease the tension, but they're both so distracted that even Stiles forgets the threat lingering in the streets.

At least, that's what Derek assumes as soon as they leave empty-handed and stare into the barrels of five shotguns. He can't be sure and a part of him questions Stiles would deceive him willingly to take on these survivors headfirst, but there is still a voice whispering in a singsong _He should have known. He said he can feel them_.

Derek decides to give Stiles the benefit of the doubt, thanking the heavens that the teen is wearing his hoodie so most parts of his face are hidden from the strangers – and sadly also him. If he can't read everything in Stiles' eyes, he is mostly at a loss as to what the other thinks.

The men before them look like they've killed half Santa Monica in the past few hours; blood, grime and dirt staining their clothes and skin. Derek knows they won't shoot them, they haven't fired a single gunshot since he and Stiles entered the city. They won't be so stupid now.

It's still not really comforting being threatened by strangers. Bullets without wolfsbane won't kill him but he's not concerned about himself. Stiles might be dead and still living yet he can easily be taken down by guns. They just have to catch onto his situation and they'll fire all their rounds in his head.

Derek has not come this far to lose Stiles to some survivors who can't believe a kid and a man can make it on their own without looking like they have taken a bath in organs and body fluids.

'Yo,' Stiles greets them coolly while he tries to bow his head low enough to not raise any suspicion. Derek curses himself for not urging his companion to wear lipstick to conceal the blueish lips.

The man in the middle, gun pointed at Derek's chest, nods warily. His face is all hard angles and sharp eyes. He's definitely the leader and smarter than the rest. Derek can't make out any confusion or skepticism so far but it's a dangerous game they're playing.

One wrong move and Stiles is done for.

'You don't wanna aim that thing at me,' Stiles continues talking, _threatening_ , and Derek can feel his stomach drop. It's not cockiness that drives Stiles to never back down. No, it's stubbornness and a strong mind. Derek usually admires that but right now he fears it might be the wrong way to proceed. The teen probably just fuels the wrath buried deep inside those people.

Derek sincerely hopes no one of them has a trigger happy finger.

'Gimme a reason,' the guy in the middle counters, cocking his gun to emphasize his words, all the while nodding to his companions to not lower their weapons. Derek eyes them warily but with a head held high to give off the same confidence as Stiles.

They all have a steady grip on their shotguns, eyes fixed on their chests rather than faces – which is good news –, their heartbeats a steady thrum in his ears. The wolf inside him begs to be released, to scare them away, claw its way through their bodies if necessary, but he contains it.

Shifting might not be the wisest course of action right now. Even though he and Stiles are stronger and faster than all of them, he doesn't want to take any chances. He can't put Stiles' life at risk.

Stiles inhales deeply, smile creeping over his pale face. Even though everything above the nose is hidden from all of them, Derek just knows that that expression is one the nogitsune has worn every so often. One that makes him shiver uncontrollably.

'Your weapons are no match for us,' he teases the strangers, one of them baring his teeth to intimidate Stiles but the teen just scoffs. It's like he has flipped a switch, the mood suddenly chipper and carefree.

'Dude, come on, we're totally harmless. No need to turn us into a sieve. We don't even have shiny guns ourselves. Never play dirty in the game of surviving the apocalypse.'

The leader of the little group squints his eyes at Stiles and Derek's heart hammers violently in his chest the longer the moment drags on. Derek is just glad he doesn't start sweating. Nothing makes people look as innocent as a trembling lip and beads of sweat running down their faces.

'How the fuck did ya two survive with only a bat 'n machete?' Stiles snickers and shows the hunting knife he's hiding in the pockets of his hoodie. Derek fishes the hammer out of his belt and manages a weak smile. No need to tell them about Stiles' gun in his backpack.

'We're just smart,' Stiles jokes, tone light and easy but Derek can still hear him mocking those people. 'And big guy here is really strong.' Derek feels all five pair of eyes resting on him, judging his body like he's some piece of meat they want to devour.

'Where are you from?' asks the guy on their left and Derek answers before Stiles even has the chance to open his mouth. 'San Diego.' He wants those people to believe they haven't achieved anything in the New World yet. That they've been lucky enough to stay alive without fighting for their lives every day.

He also doesn't trust them enough to tell them the truth. It's a lot easier if they underestimate their combined power.

'You ain't seen nothin' of this world yet, boy,' their leader snarls and finally they all lower their guards. It has worked. They don't consider him and Stiles a threat anymore, which might be the only advantage they have.

'We like to stay out of trouble. Keep it to quiet places,' Stiles nods still smiling – it has turned into a goofy one and it fools everyone around them –, while hiding his hands inside the sleeves after realizing how treacherous the skin with its dark veins is.

They can be glad those people didn't pay close attention to his fingers when he showed them his knife. The two of them might be able to get away without any killing and maiming.

''s the pansy way to survive,' a tall guy with a baseball cap accuses them but he doesn't feel offended, considering they've actually told the truth there. 'Works for us,' Stiles chuckles and Derek is sure he has just winked at the man under the hood.

'What's your name, boy?' the leader wants to know, apparently taking a liking to Stiles and his carefree attitude. Derek isn't too fond of this one bit. Their relaxed postures reek of danger. Something is going to happen and he hopes Stiles is fast enough to catch up on it.

'I'm Sam,' the teen answers right away and pats Derek on the shoulder. 'This is Dean.' One of the survivors huffs out a sarcastic laugh, cocks his eyebrow and snarls, 'Your brother?'

Stiles laughs, voice ringing like little, fine chimes. It's not his usual one, the one Derek has fallen in love with. It's cautious and misleading at the same time. He is giving his best to convince the group that he's the dorky kid that has only survived because a big bad wolf has protected it up until now.

'Boyfriend,' Stiles states and gently bumps into him, urging Derek to back him up. 'Boyfriend,' he parrots, tongue numb and voice rough. He doesn't know if Stiles is still telling a blatant lie or mixing the truth into it but he feels his whole body hum in contentment.

It's ridiculous and he should be old enough to not grin like an idiot but he can't stop the smile from spreading over his face, nearly splitting it in half. 'I'm his boyfriend,' he repeats, giddy and proud this time, not caring that those strangers look like they're about to call them names.

He can feel Stiles shooting him a happy look, bordering on adoration and disbelief, and clears his throat to find his way back into the present. There are still five men standing in front of them, guns in their hands and it doesn't seem like they'll break the semi-circle they've trapped Stiles and him in any time soon.

Derek hopes they're not cannibals. He really doesn't want to deal with those again. Humans are just so damn crazy and do the weirdest things when their lives are at stake.

'Look at that. A happy couple,' the one on Derek's side says in a voice that reeks of disdain. Stiles nods again, and Derek's heart skips a beat when his hood shows the bridge of his nose. He lays his arm around the teen's shoulders to keep the fabric in place and leans casually against the cold, solid body.

'Seems like love can conquer everything,' a third one mocks them and a small round of laughter sounds painfully in Derek's ears. The wolf growls menacingly and Derek has to fight hard against the urge to punch the guy in the face. Thankfully, Stiles' calming presence is enough to keep him grounded.

'Aw, sweetheart, I'm sorry. I'd love to show you the merits of gay love in the New World too, but I'm a faithful man. Maybe one of your buddies can help you. No homo, of course,' Stiles taunts the guy and Derek's breath hitches in his throat. He can't believe that Stiles keeps on pestering those people. As funny as it is, he's risking his neck and Derek doesn't want to deal with the inevitable fallout.

He's taken aback when the leader of the small group guffaws instead of straight-up shooting them. 'I dig your style, boy,' he praises Stiles and holds up his hand to shut up his men who look like they want to murder his friend just for that.

'You either laugh or you cry,' Stiles explains, shrugging. 'You're brave,' the man continues to flatter Stiles' boldness. It's unbelievable that this kid has managed to win over the gruff leader with his loud-mouthed comments. Stiles really is one of a kind.

'Guess it never gets boring,' he addresses Derek with a look that shows sympathy and glee at once. Stiles laughs quietly while Derek shakes his head. 'He is a handful,' his admission elicits an indignant sound out of Stiles and suddenly they all laugh, voices low enough to not lure any Turned their way.

'Name's Patrick,' their leader finally says, tension leaving the small group the same moment the guy holds his hand out. Derek grins valiantly, the wolf begging him to either release it or leave the street to distance himself and Stiles from those strangers, while he grips the calloused fingers tightly.

It's a trap.

He knows it the moment the dirty hand hovers in the air in front of Stiles. If he takes it, he'll reveal a telltale sign of a Runner. If he doesn't, they'll get suspicious and attack. Whatever Stiles does, there is no way out of this without causalities.

The wolf soars inside his skin, only one blink away from surfacing when Stiles' body goes still for a split second before he wraps his fingers around the outstretched hand. Time stops and Derek forgets to breathe when his ears pick up the slight hiccup in Patrick's pulse.

Stiles shoots him a look that's hidden in the darkness of the hood but Derek knows exactly what it means. That guy is checking Stiles' wrist as if he knows how much a heartbeat can tell those who can read the signs. The moment reaches a point where it gets unbearable and Derek steps forward to separate their hands when Patrick states a tad impressed and curious but mostly leery, 'He has no pulse.'

Stiles finally frees his hand to shove it back into his pockets. Maybe they can convince Patrick and his group that he just couldn't find one like it sometimes is the case. Stiles should make a joke now, say he must be a vampire then and laugh that trademark deflecting laugh of his that could even fool Scott and Derek.

'I don't have a reflection either,' comes out of Stiles' mouth and Derek watches startled how one of them checks the window for a mirror image while the others get uneasy, gripping their shotguns tighter and waiting for a sign to strike.

Stiles snickers when the guy blinks confused at the reflection behind him but it's not the sound Derek has hoped for. It's genuine and surprised and way too gentle to use it as a distraction. It sounds like they have found out what's wrong with him and he doesn't mind at all.

He shrugs and Derek watches horrified how Stiles takes out his hands to hug his left arm, showing the whole world the black veins stretching over his pallid skin. Stiles reveals his divine move and challenges the group of survivors with it, though they both know it's the beginning of the end.

He also takes down his hood and a collective gasp echoes in the air when they all see Stiles' gray face, the blueish lips, black veins running over his body and the slightly red patches under his eyes. One of them is so scared that he takes a faltering step back, looking like he wants to run rather than fight but he stays where he is, rooted to the spot, too fascinated with Stiles still being alive.

'Oh, buddy, vampires are obviously only a myth,' says the one living Runner in their little group with a superior smile, animadverting their enemies. 'But see? Here's a thing for you to learn before you die.'

Stiles steps forward, tugging Derek with him, and the whole group immediately retreats a few steps, guns still not pointed at them. It's only a matter of time until one of them will try to shoot Stiles in the brain. Hopefully their fascination for him will distract them long enough for Derek to kill all of them.

Just like he has done last time. Even though Stiles is practically a killing machine now, Derek still doesn't want him to off humans. No matter how hostile they are or how much they want to eliminate both of them. It's a special kind of virginity loss that would change him forever.

Derek is terribly afraid it'll speed up Stiles' Turning process or numb his pure heart to a point he won't recognize it anymore. Stiles should stay Stiles.

'Werewolves on the other hand are the real deal. And jeez, you've just pissed one off,' Stiles gloats, the irritation of the men almost palpable. Patrick raises his gun, fear written all over his face. He obviously believes Stiles' words but he also wrongly assumes that he himself is the werewolf.

Time for him to teach those guys a lesson they'll never forget. Mostly because it's the last thing they'll see.

Stiles giggles, his whole demeanor screaming amusement. 'There you're wrong again. I'm just an ordinary zombie. _He'_ s the werewolf,' he says and points to Derek who is already giving in to the animal inside. His fangs show and he runs a clawed hand over Stiles' stomach to push him back, eyes flashing dangerously.

The sound of Stiles chuckling quietly is the last thing he hears before the rush of blood takes over and a loud roar escapes his mouth. They get the warning but it's too late. Horror and hesitation has turned their bodies to stone, making it impossible to move fast enough to get out of Derek's reach.

He rips the guy who insulted them earlier open with one swift motion, tearing apart skin and flesh, pulling bones from their rightful place and covering all of them in their friend's blood, before he stabs a piece of broken bone into the socket of his eye.

'What the fuck is he?' one of them screams panicked and manages to raise his weapon with shaky fingers. A shotgun won't kill him but it'll hurt like hell and the healing is a bitch. He'd rather not get hit by one of those bullets.

'Are you deaf? I told you, he's a werewolf,' Stiles reminds their opponent before he rams his hand into the guy's chest and effortlessly rips his heart out. Derek's wolf cries out in agony, mourning the loss of Stiles' last shreds of innocence. 'It's okay, Derek. I want to help,' his mate whispers low enough for only him to hear, calming the raging beast inside his chest.

'Shoot them,' Patrick orders hurriedly, aiming his gun at Stiles' head while his companions try to hit Derek. Stray pellets graze his skin but never hurt him enough to slow him down. So far he still has all his fingers and limbs intact. As long as he can move, he'll fight.

Derek hears Stiles reprimanding the leader of the guy he's just throwing against the pavement, stomping hard enough on the skull to break it. He's leading two to one. And only two more survivors to go.

'Shooting us? Is that all you got?' He can see Stiles just standing there, eyes fixed on Patrick's sweat-covered face, not even fazed by the gun pointed at him. He must sense something Derek and his wolf are missing because there is no way Stiles is that sloppy in a fight.

'How are you even alive?' Derek catches the dubious question and launches himself at the last remaining guy, throwing them both down on the filthy road. 'Kill me and you'll never know,' Stiles crows and bats the gun away as if it's a fly bothering him.

'Please don't do this,' the bearded guy under him begs but neither Derek nor the wolf are listening. He smashes Stiles' bat against the head until it's just a bloody pulp, all the while listening to his mate teasing Patrick with his unrivaled abilities.

'This has been fun,' the teen announces after a while, voice bored and determined at the same time. 'But playtime's over. Now you know how we survived. Oh, and just in case you're wondering: I'm Stiles, this is Derek, I'm really dead – well, sort of –, and yes, he is my boyfriend.'

Derek is getting up, ruling in the wolf that has just started to have fun the moment Stiles' body darts forward at a tearing pace, almost too fast for him to catch even with his enhanced vision and definitely too quick for Patrick to react.

He stares at the immobile body of the stranger, registers the blood sprouting out of the guy's throat and into the air. Stiles looks at the head between his fingers, throwing it around for a short while before he shoves it into Derek's hands.

'I've already lost. You can win four to one, if you want to.' The wolf resurfaces, roaring happily. It'll be his pleasure.

* * *

Day 600  
Aug 11th

N°369 ROGUES

I haven't talked about those yet, have I? Mostly cause I didn't like the idea of writing about them after Lydia. It was pretty awful. Or maybe it was the knowledge that in these dire times humans turn on other humans so easily instead of helping each other.

I like to call all of those humans rogue who've somehow lost their humanity. I'm one to talk, I know, but even though I'm a monster I still have it. I feel remorse and guilt like any other being. But I still don't kill humans if I don't explicitly have to. I've never even once fed on human flesh. And that is pretty awesome, considering what I am nowadays.

Rogues don't give a shit about me being 'vegetarian'. (I just eat small animals and only if I have to, so I won't accidentally bite Derek at night.) Rogues don't give a shit about anything. They slay whatever stands in their way.

A group of 17 killed Lydia. One of them saw her scream – I wonder if she heard her own death before it happened –, mistook her for a Turned and shot her. Just like that. The rest of the group went with the flow. Where one infected is, there's never not another one lurking too far away. They know the rules too.

If you find this one day and read it and think you can trust humans (because hey, finally someone who doesn't want to eat your insides – preferably while you're still alive and kicking), DON'T! They're as dangerous as the Infected/Turned. Maybe even worse. Some will eat you (yes, cannibals are a thing, hate to break it to you), some will just kill you for your supplies. Or because it's a game to them. Or...

Derek and I ran into a group of five under the lead of someone who called himself Patrick (blatant lie, he smelled like sour milk while telling that). They wanted to kill Derek the moment they laid eyes on him. Even before they found out that I'm undead. I pretend I don't even know why.

I like to believe that Patrick once has been a hunter, somehow sensing that Derek is a werewolf. That I don't have a single clue because I can't read minds. That I just smelled his burning desire to murder Derek – a mixture of post-coital sex (I know, I just can't think of anything else to describe it. Sue me.) and burnt flesh. Derek sometimes smells like this when he's wolfed out and thinks I'm in danger.

But I do know what their real intention had been. Why they wanted sourwolf out of the way. We have met all kinds of crazy since the Outbreak. I had assumed nothing could get worse than cannibals. But there is one group of people that terrifies me even more.

People who would kill a protector, a friend to take the smaller, less dangerous looking guy (or girl, if available) with them. To have some... some _fun_. If you get what I mean. I had looked so completely harmless to them. Only Derek had been in their way.

I'm just glad Derek would never have let them take me – turned or not. That they underestimated the supernatural by thinking zombies were the only thing walking amongst them. They got what they deserved. I will never let anyone use me to as their sex toy. That's fucking weird, man.

Anyway, stay away from people – dead or alive – unless you absolutely have to or you've checked them out for a while. Don't trust anybody. But do trust me, I'm not kidding. I've lost enough family to both kinds. So please, if you value your life: DON'T TRUST ANYONE! I will say this until you heed my words. You're safer on your own even if there's no one to back you up. Good luck, man.

* * *


End file.
